Aftermath
by CyanDisaster
Summary: Post-Blight and Post-Awakenings. The Ferelden Commander of the Grey Wardens has fallen ill, deathly so and it is now up to the estranged Warden, Alistair to make things right. If this sounds familiar it is because I have written this once before in my old account. I am re-writing it now, I hope you enjoy!
1. One

**Hello!**

**This story is from my old account that I no longer have access to, due to my email getting hacked. So I am re-writing it! I did read all of the reviews and I will work very hard to improve my grammar and spelling mechanics this time around. I am changing some things, as it has been 3 years since I wrote this originally and my skills have improved (I think). **

**I hope you enjoy.**

When night had fallen and he was finally able to act, he had to shake his head. Here? Really? Could his target not have found even slightly more reasonable lodgings? Alas, he had gone to the bottom of the barrel, and only slowed his pace during the dead of winter. Zevan wrapped his cloak tighter about himself, trying to stop the shivers running up and down his spine. "Braska!" The Antivan swore as a gust of wind blew the hood of his cloak back.

This is just another shit-hole, he reminded himself, as he found the window his target was. His lithe but half-frozen fingers jarred the window open enough for the tiny elf to slip into the warmth of the room.

If only it had been warm. Instead, his leather covered feet touched down in a room no warmer than the world outside. Then the stench hit him, oh dear Maker, the smell! It was a mix of piss, wet dog, the sorts of alcohol that only Oghren would have drank and unwashed bodies.

He found the source of the smell almost immediately, it found him, rather. A man propelled the elf to the side in a diving dodge, before he rose his hands up to show he was unarmed. The roughly two-hundred pounds of muscle did not seem to care and lunged for him sloppily, nearly throwing himself against the window Zevran had climbed through. "Who the—Why are you here?" The voice was unmistakeable, but the face no longer seemed to match.

The elf laughed, it was hilarious in an awful way to see this man drunk. "I come on behalf of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, I seek an audience with you."

"I dun' care what that bitch wants…" He was slurring and unsteady on his feet, a meaty hand falling onto the rickety bed frame to keep him up. Zevran almost wanted to knock the man out for his own sake.

"Now, my dear Alistair, is that how you greet an old friend?"

"You are no friend of mine," Alistair grunted harshly, his honey brown eyes narrowing suspiciously at the elf.

Zevran ran a tanned hand through his long tresses of sun-kissed hair, holding back the sigh forming behind his lips. He took the next few moments to look around while the drunk attempted to get himself steady. The room was filthy, as was the man who had rented it. Alistair was dressed in a loose tunic that must have fit him once; his face was dishevelled and covered dirt, once neatly cropped hair now hung loosely around his jaw, the beginning of a scruffy beard covered his face from the nose down, his eyes bloodshot and the tip of his structured nose a bright pink from the alcohol. He was almost unrecognisable. "I beg you Alistair, merely listen to me."

He huffed and crossed of his arms, leading Zevran to believe he was giving leave to speak. Taking a deep breath, Zevran began: "As you may have heard, the remaining Hero of Ferelden has become the Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, hm? Well.. a situation has arisen, and they need someone to take her place. Someone who was there during the Blight."

Alistair's face was unmoving. "So why are you here, Zevran? I am no Grey Warden."

The grin that had been playing on his features died into something more serious, his eyes stopped their glittering and his hands folded on his thighs as he gathered himself to his feet.

"I can see that," He drawled, before shaking his head. "Alistair, they need a new Commander. Emily Cousland is dying."


	2. Two

**Chapter Two, enjoy.**

* * *

Zevran had been expecting the swing of his fist towards his face, so he quickly ducked down, snaking a foot out against Alistair's ankle to knock the big man onto the ground. Alistair grunted as he hit it. Jumping up again, the elf stepped on the man's shoulders and places his blade against the back of his neck, sighing softly. Zevran 'tsk'ed lowly, shaking his head sadly. "Alistair, you needn't attack me."

"You lying, sneaky, _fucking_ elf!" He spat, slurring and trying to roll onto his stomach, and failing. Zevran dug his heels into the man's shoulders.

"Now, that may be true, but it does not mean it is polite. Be still my dear Warden," Alistair stilled under him, and so Zevran relaxed slightly. He shifted his weight off of the large human's form, his feet silent as he took three steps back. "You should rest tonight, and we shall continue our conversation when you are sober."

Alistair tried to swing for the elf again, but Zev danced his way back to the window. He offered Alistair a mocking wave, before disappearing into the darkness of the night. Grumbling, Alistair reached for the bottle he'd been drowning his ever present sorrow in, to find it gone. "Fucking elf!"

The next morning came too soon, the pain that accompanied his nausea made him want to throw himself from the cliffs in Highever— the highest thing he could think of. The thought of Highever made memories swim back into Alistair's already pained mind.

_Her back was too him as she stood before her old home. Half crumbled in on itself, her cloak red as blood whipping about her body. Her gloved fingers grazed the wooden door before her. The castle was empty of all humans, but the rumours of Darkspawn had brought them here, or so they justified it._

_She turned her head back to them, "Stay—"_

_"No, we won't stay here, Emily." He remembered how to smile for her, hoping it would take some of the stress from her shoulders. Drawing comfort from the golden eyes meeting her own white-blue ones filled with the memories of this place. He stepped up to her, placing a hand on her thick plate shoulder, fingers curling around them gently. "I promised you that I would be with you, always. I will keep that promise."_

_Her smile flickered for a moment, before she waved a hand to their other companions to catch up. Alistair, Sten, Shale and herself pressed their bodies against the wooden doors, frozen shut from the harsh winter snows. Finally, the ice shattered under the pressure, falling down to gather at their feet as they pushed their way in. The door groaned under the strain. An arrow was notched behind them as the doors swung wide; Leliana using her acute eyes to look for danger ahead of them._

_Pushing into Highever with Emily at their front, hunched low behind her shield, Alistair couldn't help but feel sorrow for her. Shaking back the feeling, they pushed on, before she collapsed to her knees. "No!" She cried softly as she clutched a frozen corpse to her plated chest. They stood in the main courtyard; a frozen reminder of what Highever had looked the night of the attack, months ago, at the brink of winter. The once great hall seemed bare and broken with the bodies of the Cousland guards and a few Howes. At the far end of the hall there were two massive chairs, thrones of sorts, for the Arl and Arlessa- Emily's parents. Behind the empty chairs was a huge tapestry that must have been green and gold at one time, but the exposure left it grey, only barely able to make out the Cousland sigil. Upon the others wall there were signs that tapestries once hung there, but there was no remains._

_Emily shook as she clutched the body, whispering something unintelligible. Alistair's fingers touched her arm, causing her to jolt up to look at him, her eyes rimmed red with withheld tears. "Ser G-Gilmore…" She informed him, before clinging to the body once more. "My teacher, my friend… he loved me you know? And I left him to die. I should have made him come… He would have been a great Warden..." Wynne was there then, extracting Emily from the body._

_Zevran seemingly appeared from thin air at their side. "There are no Darkspawn here, no remnants of them either…"_

_Leliana piped in, her soft and gentle voice caressing over their skin like a song, "We shall burn the dead, it is what you do here in Ferelden, yes? We are here as it is, we should spend the time here properly."_

_"For once, I agree with the Bard," Morrigan added, scowling from behind the group, though her eyes were softer than he'd ever seen. She stared hard into the back of Emily, as she slowly rose to her feet to nod numbly at the group, before pointing moving to begin to gather the dead. Alistair silently watched her from across the room and whenever she uncovered a face of her guards she saw the recognition in her eyes. She had known each and every one of these men, and now they were all dead but her. Alistair could only imagine her pain._

Groaning, the very hungover warrior rolled to his stomach. He was still on the floor, covered in a blanket that looked as if it was half-heartedly pulled from his bed. The wood below him had left his backside numb. Leaning against a bedpost was Zevran, the cheeky elf keeping a level gaze with him. "You awaken, finally."

"And here I thought it was all a nightmare."

Zevran scoffed, grasping Alistair by the scruff of his tunic and pulled him roughly to his feet. "No, the fact that your former lover, my friend—the Hero of your homeland is on her death bed is no joke, nor nightmare, nor a dream."

Those words stung him, like a dagger into his ribcage. "What do you expect me to do? Cry?"

The elf dropped Alistair back onto the ground, before pointing to the clean clothing, towel and bar of soap on his hay-filled mattress. "Clean up and get dressed. You smell as bad as Oghren's backside on a good day, and look worse. Then, I will speak."

The bastard prince was getting sick and tired of the postponing of information, but hurried over to the bath that Zevran must've set up during the morning while he slept.

Alistair gave himself a healthy scrub down before returning to where Zevran sat, slightly fidgety, upon his rented bed. His thicker brows shot up, the once rough stubble on his face was a full grown beard, one that Oghren himself might have been proud of. "Speak, assassin."

Zevran sighed, placing something wrapped in a thick cloak on the unkempt bed beside him. "Emily is dying, she may be dead for all we know, now." Alistair's eyes narrowed dangerously, "When she fell ill… she had been planning a mission to find you. It was a secret mission only known within Vigil's Keep, she had wished to convince you to come back for reasons I do not understand. She had convinced Queen Anora to drop the charges on your head and then shortly afterwards she was called to a Landsmeet in Denerim and while there she fell ill. At first, it was a fever, but it escalated. She fell into a... state that reminded Wynne of Arl Eamon during the Blight." The warrior stayed silent, and for that the Antivan thanked this Maker person. "Things have been.. difficult for the Warden's since the end of the Blight. Which is strange as I understand. The darkspawn are not returning to the Deep Roads and the Wardens are in dire need of leadership. Some whisper of another Blight coming to head, but... the Commander fell ill before she could get far in her research."

Alistair's face fell slightly as he remembered that Emily had used the blood of the High Dragon to defile the Ashes to gain wicked powers- ones she claimed she only sought to defeat the Blight. They could not save her now.

The memories of her burned, especially knowing she was dying. The anger he felt for her was still there, she did betrayed him after all. "And why should I care?" His voice was much harsher than he'd thought it'd be.

The former Crow seemed to notice it, and was taken aback. "The Grey Warden's need their own Commander. You are the only truly Ferelden Grey Warden left and you were there for most of the Blight, you must come back."

He rubbed his temples with a large hand and silently Alistair begged his headache to go away, he needed a clear head to think. This clear head would be the first in many months, maybe even a year. "Why me?" His voice had dropped, cracking slightly.

Zevran paused slightly, he was treading on thin ice. "Queen Anora had made note she wished you to take Emily's place, no one else. I do not know why."

His gut's twisted, and his face contorted as he concentrated on his decision. There was a long few minutes of silence that even Zevran would not break. Finally, Alistair said: "I will go back, for Ferelden though. Both the daughter and the savoir of that slimy bastard can rot."

_Don't fool yourself, Alistair._ Whispered a voice, his voice, in his head. This voice had been suppressed since the Landsmeet. _You want to see her, you want her to beg for you forgiveness, that's why you are agreeing._ Battling with himself, Alistair took the package wrapped in the cloak and revealed it. Zevran was studying his expression as the former Templar stared at the magically preserved rose lain across a leather bound book with her name scrawled upon it.

_Don't you miss her?_ His mind-voice asked as his fingers moved across the rose without his permission. _No, not in the least,_ Alistair lied to himself.


	3. Three

**And Chapter 3!**

* * *

The elf wasted no time fleeing the tavern or brothel, whichever term tickled whomever's fancy. Alistair tightened the cloak around his body, thinner than the one he had had during the Blight. His hair was long and tickling near his beard now, but offered no protection from the elements. Even though the harsh winter winds gusted around them, they pushed on relentlessly. They had two horses, the first – Zevrans—had rolls with tents on it's rear, food and money pouches dangling carefully while the other was saddled with the same but empty buckles, Alistair had no such possessions. "I hope you brought two tents, I'd rather sleep in the snow than in a tent with you."

The elf seemed to have lightened a bit, a grin flashing over his features as he pulled his hood up, "Aye, friend. I brought a second tent, I am not as foolish as you'd believe. Not to mention, these had been partically prepared for when the Wardens came looking for you."

Alistair at least had the decency to look mildly ashamed.

That day Alistair kept quiet. It was hard for him to cope with the memories that riding with Zevran brought him, it made him remember the better times they had during the Blight. In particular the time they met the Dalish elves. Even through the snow, the sun was blinding and burning him through the thick layers he wore. That warmth he welcomed, even though it brought throbbing back into his head. They travelled towards the shared border of Ferelden and Orlais, and covered a good amount of land in their first day. Alistair vaguely wondered why they hadn't bought horses during the Blight, it would have made their travels much easier.

The thoughts of the Blight made his mind wander to the first time he met her.

_"Get out of my way, __**fool**__!"_

_Alistair turned towards where the newest figure stood, short—probably Elven by the looks of it—and made (what he believed to be) a witty comment: "Isn't it wonderful how the Blight brings people together?"_

_"Oh, indubitably so," the figure returned, the pale skin that showed from under it's hood twisted into a smile. The voice was rather light, a little high even. Most definitely an elf._

_"You know, we haven't had many elves in the Wardens."_

_"And?" Was it's simple reply, the hooded figure tilted it's head to look up at him._

_Alistair was shocked for a second, before the figure started to laugh. Muttering an apology and lowering it's—her—hood. Strawberry blond tresses were tied into a loose bun at the base of her neck, her skin a smooth ivory, a soft yet strong jaw, full thick lips pink with cold, a small button nose and large white-blue eyes. "M-my apologizes, M'Lady—" He began to stutter._

_"Oh dear Maker, not this again, really, call me Emily. You can even call me 'hey you', just not 'm'lady'." Though the woman was smiling at him, he could see a flicker of something else in her eyes. It was quickly smothered as she allowed her grin to widen, "I take it you are Alistair, Duncan spoke of you."_

_"I hope he didn't say anything bad," it was meant as a joke, but to Alistair's own ears it seemed earnest._

_She seemed to catch the joke—he liked her, "Oh, not too many things. He mentioned some things about cheese and what can I say? I'm intrigued. Cheese is a personal favourite."_

_He smiled so widely he began to feel a bit like a fool, but he liked her all the more now, "Good to hear. Well, we should get a move on, Duncan is probably waiting. I promise to share my secret stash of cheese with you later, though."_

_"Really? Wonderful, I look forward to travelling with you Alistair."_

A soft sigh left his chilled lips as the memory slipped away like a leaf between fingers on a windy day. His once shimmering golden eyes flickered to the elf, who was getting himself down from his horse and motioning for Alistair to do the same. "Tonight we shall camp here, we are not a half day's ride from the border. Then we must cross Ferelden, does it ring of old times, friend?"

Alistair was never as dumb as he let on and he knew Zevran knew this. The assassin was stretching out a figurative hand to the man, wanting to made amends, wanting to help him. The thought of reconnecting the friendship was indeed temping, he could not lie. But her words rung in his minds, making his chest close down on itself.

_"I hereby conscript Loghain Mac Tir into the Grey Wardens."_

A snort issued forth from Alistair, "I don't think any of you have right to call me friend." Even within himself he flinched. While Zevran sighed, but Alistair knew the elf would not give up that easily.

Zevran continued to speak of 'old times' travelling across Ferelden, he seemed to bring her up more than he should have. They got their tents up and the bastard was tempted to just head straight into the thin confines of the tent, just so he would not have to hear more about memories that haunted him daily. But instead the smell of the stew Zevran was concocting allured him to stay. He sat across the fire from Zevran and watched him with a sharp eye.

The man was different than he remembered, there were more lines on his face, his grins were less lurid and less frequent. But his chatter was much the same and it even seemed his accent was failing slightly. As he stirred the pot, he began to explain the past few months. _Had it really been nearly a year?_ Alistair thought to himself but had to snap back to hear his words: "So when I returned from Antiva, she and the dwarf had drunk themselves into a haze," Zev was saying, waving the wooden spoon as he spoke, "the pair of them were singing some song about dwarven women, if I do remember correctly. Then this mage tripped into the room over this cat and they all burst into laughter. I made my presence known to them then and within moments they were armed, well trained no? Emily got up and did that walk, you know the one, where she sways her hips and puts her hands resting on her rear? Oh yes, all the way over to me, before passing out on me. No simple trip, shewas unconcious before she even hit my chest." The Antivian chuckled, "thankfully for me, the Dwarf recognized me through his drunken stupor, and called the Howe off—"

"What?!" Alistair was bewildered by that.

"So you have been listening… hmm yes. She seemed to have taken in the eldest Howe, Nathaniel was his name? Quiet brooding type, that one. Then there is Anders, he actually reminds me of you a little." Finally that lurid grin returned, "except with less muscle and more magic. Then there is Oghren, you remember him. He's a Warden now. There were those other ones, Sigrun a Legionnaire; if only she were human… then the bitter elf, Velanna. And… an undead named Justice. And those are the current Ferelden Wardens."

Alistair felt Zevran's gaze, knowing he must look incredibly silly with that expression plastered on his face, half confusion, half knowing. It was just like her to gather such a rag-tag group of people, it shouldn't even surprise him.

"Oh, and Lieutenant Tucker. He is her second, your second when we get there. Now eat."

He did as he was bid and ate the stew that Zevran served him. It was actually quite good but his mind could not let go of why there was such a lack of description on the Tucker person? Alistair wondered this as he fell into his tent for his first sober sleep since before the Landsmeet.


	4. Four

It had been one week now. One week since he'd had a drink. One week since he'd been wallowing in self-pity. One week since he'd been content just being absorbed in anger and sadness. One week since the bloody elf showed up at his door, well, window. They were still riding; the tension in the air had lazed for the both of them though and Zevran filled the silence with his chatter, talking about Antiva, the Wardens, Leliana, Wynne and Shale even.

"So, have you looked at the book yet?" He asked suddenly from beside him; he had slowed his horse to fall beside Alistair's. The road here was wider than it had been in the last few days, wide enough for the horses to trot side-by-side.

The question made Alistair rise his head up from it's near lolling state, "Hrm? Oh, I looked at it. It looks like paper work mostly, and notes. Lots of notes." Alistair had only peeked at it the night before. He spent most of the time just admiring the scratch that was solely her's. He had tried to read the first few pages, but it had been a very boring budget and the numbers had lulled him to sleep.

Zevran looked pleased though. "It is all the information she had collected since becoming the Arlessa. It contains budgets and lists for Vigils Keep. Not to mention notes on the adventures she has been on, even some personal ones." The rouge rose his brows suggestively and let a smile bloom across his face, Alistair did not feel as amused. "I am told there are many more like these at the keep and there is a whole set of three just on the Blight, but I have not seen them myself. I think they are hidden somewhere."

"And you want to read them? Do you really want to relive the Blight?" Alistair asked.

"It was not all bad, was it?" Zevran replied, before clicking his tongue and putting his heels to his horse to get back in front, so a small caravan filled with livestock could pass them.

Silence followed them for a while after that, and Alistair thought on his words. _No, it wasn't all bad, _he mentally agreed after a while. A feeling of familiarity roused in Alistair as he looked up to notice the cliffs, a busy looking and sounding castle not far off. "Is that Highever?" He asked after catching up with Zevran.

"Indeed, we shall stay there tonight. A bath is in order." Zevran seemed pleased with himself after his announcement. So, the duo headed up towards the castle precariously placed on the cliffs overlooking ocean. The flashback of the last time he'd been here physically hurt his chest but they did not slow. They were greeted by a set of guards, demanding their names.

Zevran pulled his hood back, his lustrous blond hair catching as much attention as the swirling tattoo on his dark cheek. "Zevran Arainai, friend of the Lady Cousland." His voice stilled whatever suspicion there may have had, and they were welcomed past the gates like old friends.

It was nothing like he remembered; first of all, ice didn't layer the ground. The courtyard was a green expanse now filled with life and trees and a few children even. The guard who let them pass led them to the stable near the main hall and took their mounts, pointing Zevran to where he asked with a smile. The hall itself was alight with dancing flames, tapestries drawn down the sides of the walls between statues of armour, it was the way he had expected the first time he had seen it. He remembered the two large throne like seats at the end of the hall, but now a man sat there. He had dark hair with just a hint of grey in it, a thin layer of stubble layered his strong jaw and chin, and familiar eerie white-blue eyes that looked both Zevran and Alistair up and down a few times cautiously, before he began to smile.

"Greetings, Teryn Cousland," Zevran drawled, giving the man a lopsided grin.

The man, Fergus, got to his feet and clapped his hands together, his voice was booming and familiar, the same tone Emily had had. A twinge of pain and guilt hit Alistair. "Ah! Dear friend of the Couslands, what brings you here? Is there news of my sister's illness?" Alistair had tried to stay out of sight with his hood drawn, but he towered over the elf infront of him and Fergus rose a hand in his direction, "Who is this you bring with you?"

"Ah, of course, how rude. This is Warden Alistair, the man who is to take your sister's spot until she gets better." The words used were picked carefully, Alistair noted.

Oddly enough, Alistair found himself liking the man when he began to speak. "Ah, the Therin one, right? Good to meet you, I am Fergus Cousland." A grin formed on his lips, one too much like the one Emily possessed. "I hope you've heard as much of me as I have you."

"Yes, My Lord, she spoke of you often." Alistair found his skin crawling at speaking about her like he was, it had been a year since he had seen her last. Though he did wonder what she had said about him to her brother...

The Teryn must have noticed his discomfort, because with another clap of his hands, he was apologizing, "You must've been on horseback for days. Allow my servants to show you to your rooms, and have hot baths drawn." The elven servants seemed to appear out of the walls themselves.

As the pair were lead deeper into Highever Castle, he took notice of how many elves were actually working for the Couslands. And he also noticed how fed they looked and how happy they seemed, he would have to ask Zevran about it soon.

"Here you are, Ser Arainai, your usual quarters." The first elf spoke, she was a young girl with nothing special about her. Though, Zevran was all over that. Alistair managed to hide the rolling of his eyes as he himself was led only a bit further down the hall.

"Your room, Ser." The elf that was helping him said, she was older, perhaps even the other girl's mother.

"Thank you," his polite nature hadn't left him yet. Though, as soon as he deemed suitable, Alistair closed the door and latched it closed. He headed towards the bath that had been drawn and smiled as the steam touched his face.

It took no time at all for Alistair to be nude and in the water, a gentle sigh leaving him while he sunk deeper into the water. His eyes drifted shut and memories began to assault his mind.

_The pyres lit the night sky as the group stood outside the courtyard in an awkward silence. One by one, they disappeared into the stone walls of the castle, each having decided a bed would be nice for a night. At first Leliana had tried to convince the others not to, but Emily had spoken over her. "We have beds for the night, we may as well use them."_

_Finally, it was only the two of them. Alistair touched her arm softly, and for the first time since the fires began, she looked up at him. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears and her lips trembling under the pressure of holding them back. A moment later his arms were open, and she was in them. Broken sob after gasp raked her body as he held her. It took nearly an hour for her to calm and by then the fires were out, the thick smoke filled the night sky. The moon was only a sliver of light when she finally stopped crying. "Come Emily, let us warm ourselves by the hearth." Alistair tried to coax her._

_"No… tonight I want to be alone. Well…" In the first time in what felt like an eternity, she smiled at him, albeit weakly. Her beauty was exquisite, even though her face was lined with grime, blood, tears and sweat. "Alone other than you."_

_His lips were chaste on hers, and she returned the kiss. His fingers sought hers and their cold gauntlets squeezed against eachother. They moved inside shortly after and passed Sten, Shale and Morrigan all around the hearth warming their hands and speaking in hushed voices. Emily was pulling him along gently, leading him blindly towards the well, gathering water into the half destroyed buckets Emily looked at him to offer explination. "We may as well bathe if we are going to stay here." Alistair would admit he was rather perplexed but pulled two full buckets into his arms while Emily gathered two more. It had been months since she had last seen this place, but still she led him around expertly, as if she had never left._

_Emily stopped outside their destination for a moment, there were three apartments in this hall. The master, which was her parent's old room, and two smaller chambers. "These were mine and my brother's rooms," she explained softly as she put down the buckets. Alistair thought she was going to look inside of the rooms, but instead she just firmly shut the doors and let the pain show on her face. "We should not..." she could not finish, and returned to her buckets._

_Her parent's room had been untouched, and so, that was where she led him. Starting a fire in the hearth, laying the buckets down and peering about. Alistair looked around the room as he put down his own buckets. The furnishings were quite nice and the colours were still vibrant. It seemed to be the only room that hadn't been destroyed by the abandonment of the castle. The large, four-poster bed was pushed up against the far wall next to the matching vanity while other items such as reading chairs were carelessly tossed aside. In the furthest corner from the door was the bathing chamber, seperated only by a stone half wall. She took a stick from the hearth's fire and put it under the bath as she began to pour water in, heating it patiently. Alistair almost wanted to call for Wynne to magically heat it for them, but the lecture she would give about the conveniences of magic wouldn't be worth it._

_Emily stayed quiet as she worked and Alistair took this time to unbuckle his armour Unlike her, he was more careful with his armour He removed it piece by piece and stacked it gently at the foot of the bed until he was in his tunic and breeches. He gasped softly at the cool feel of the stone under his toes._

_Once she seemed satisfied with the fire under the bath, she offered him her first smile of the evening. "Mind helping me fetch more water?"_

_He shook his head though, "No. You stay here, I'll get us more." Alistair could see she was about to argue, but gathered all four buckets before she could. He took his time on the walk alone, figuring she would like some time alone to mourn. He was right, when he returned with the full buckets she was also down to her linen tunic, but she had forsaken the pants. It took him a moment to realize she was actually wearing one of his tunics, but it fell almost to her knees. Just the simple sight of her nearly nude in his clothing made the front of his breeches a little too tight._

_"Right in the tub, if you please." Alistair followed her orders quickly and deposited all four buckets into the tub. The water splashed up over the edge, but he did not care. He quickly turned to face her and was instantly able to notice that she did not look as sad, but was playing with the hem of his tunic. "Thank you," she said softly as she approached him in the tub, before giving him a somewhat shy look. "Would you care to join me?"_

_"Need someone to wash your back?" He asked, pulling the corner of his lips up into a smile._

_She followed suit. "Among other things."_

_Alistair was blushing instantly and leaned down to kiss her, his hand coming to rest on her cheek. He could feel her melt against him, her arms encircling his neck as she returned his kiss. The next few minutes were quite a blur of clothing, but soon enough, they were nude and he was helping her climb into the steaming waters. The former Templar climbed in quickly after her, and was relieved to see that the tub was almost big enough to fit them both._

_It began innocently enough, like it usually did. She had spun in the warm water to rub at his chest and neck with a cloth, before he snagged it away and mimicked her. He was bigger and stronger so he was able to keep grip on the cloth. Even as she tried to pull it away while he washed her down. He was careful not to touch her too much, cleaning her neck and shoulders, arms and back before he let the cloth slip to grope at her breasts. He felt the smile on his lips before it registered with his mind, and his lips fell to her freshly washed neck, where he laid gentle kisses along the skin. Emily took the cloth from the water before it sank and began to return the favour, and he could tell by the way her body was moving against his that she was trying to ignore what his mouth was doing._

_"I love you Alistair." Her voice sounded in his ear, soft and airy just as her warm hands dipped past his waist-_

Alistair woke from his dream suddenly, a jolt of surprise coursing through his body. He was embarrassed to find his hand loosely wrapped around his own flesh, but sadness prevailed instead. He made sure to scrub that hand extra hard before getting out of the soiled waters.

It wasn't long before Alistair fell into a the provided bed, letting sleep come to him once more. His dreams were filled with sweet memories and haunting monsters.


	5. Five

I'm doing my best to proof-read and edit the chapters I had written before. I have added some new things, and omitted some old ones that were just out of place. I realize now that sometimes my mind wanders while I write and I add stupid details that made no sense.

Any ways, enjoy.

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The duo spent two days in Highever, getting themselves back to their proper state of mind, or close enough at least. Zevran flirted with anything that moved while Alistair stepped carefully between sadness from his memories and a flicker of his old self. Sometimes, a joke or two even came through. The assassin made note of the mood swings carefully, though said nothing about it to Alistair.

But, the day came when they had to leave. Early morning covered their trail with a thin fog, the grass on the sides of the road wet with dew and the morning was filled with the song of the birds. "Ah, fresh air." Zevran grinned as he streched his arms above his head. "Should only take another week before we are in Redcliffe, where we once more will make a stop. I have news for the Arl from Amaranthine, which… I should have gave him on the way to you, but decided you were much more important."

"I'm almost flattered," Alistair managed to respond, his eyes half closed from another night with no sleep. Being in Highever just reminded him too much of her, he saw her face each time he looked at her brother and swore sometimes he could hear her laugh.

"You seem distracted, dear Alistair."

"Tired. Too early to be travelling," he grumbled as he rubbed his eye, hoping to dispell the unbidden images already threatening to take over.

"Really? I remember you being the morning one." The crow's laugh was quiet, muffled by his cloak. "Then again, after you and our dear Warden made your appreciation for each other notable, I do believe you stopped being so… 'perky' in the morning, at least to us."

Alistair didn't even try to defend himself, only grunting into his hands. No matter how hard he had been trying to block out those memories he could remember them all clearly. The long nights rolling around in his tent without a care in the world except one another. Then the quick, giggle-filled mornings, hell-bent on hiding their lovemaking. How just the sight of her skin would send chills down his spine and how her hair fell just perfectly around her soft shoulders. Shoulders of which he'd probably marked with his mouth in the throws of passion…

The former templar shuddered before sinking back into his saddle. "How much longer before we get to Amaranthine?" He grumbled.

His query received a chuckle, "First we go to Redcliff, Eamon will be happy to see you I'm sure. Spend a night or two there. Secondly we head to Denerim to get the Queen's approval for you, and then finally, we head back to the Keep." The assassin tapped his lips with a thin finger, "We may possibly go to the tower, see if we can bring a few fresh healers to the Keep for the pretty Warden's sake."

Alistair had nothing to say on that, and only nodded numbly. They were only a few hours out of Highever when he dared speak again. "Zevran, what was with all the elves back there?"

"You did not hear? After the Warden defeated the archdemon- at Loghain's expense- the Queen Anora gave her a boon. She asked that all elves be given the same rights and freedoms as any other man or woman. At first, the nobles tried to fight it, but you know her ways. Any rebellion was shut down quickly. She demanded that the alienages in all the cities in Ferelden be given money straight from the Chantry to rebuild and that all elves are to be given fair wages within castles or keeps. Her brother was very much on board with this, as I understand the Couslands have always had a soft spot for the misfortune of the elves. With his whole former house dead.. well you remember Shiani?"

Alistair nodded slightly, he did remember her. He also remembered how disgusted Emily had been when she first entered the alienage, which Shiani took as disgust for the elves. They did not see eye to eye at first from the misunderstanding, but by the time Emily had recovered all the other elves and killed the slavers.. it was a whole different story.

"Yes, well Fergus offered to hire her and her family at his castle before leaving Denerim. They agreed, Shiani herself now works directly under his Seneshal- though the gossip suggests he works for her, if you know what I mean." Alistair rolled his eyes as Zev grinned widely. "Thus, many elves followed Shiani and her family back to Highever. I do not believe there is more than a handful of humans within his household, other than the guards- which even have a few elves sprinkled within them. I also heard he is thinking of taking an elven wife, which is a scandal of course, but would continue to equal the footing between our people, you see?"

He could see it, for sure. He remembered how she had acted with the Dalish, more interested in their culture than anything. These Couslands must have all been open-minded, level-headed people. It was just another thing that made him... no, he would not even think the words. It made it too real. "I see," he finally admitted. "That is rather kind of her. She could have had the world with that boon."

"Ah yes, many have told her the same, but she says her decision was the best one she could have made. The elven people did help us an awful lot more than our other groups when the Blight struck Denerim."

"Denerim? I was told the battle was fought near Redcliffe."

"No, no. Originally that is where we believed the archdemon would strike. She gathered the army there but by the time they were all near, news of the archdemon near Denerim came. We rushed there as fast as we could, but.. parts of the city could not be saved. It is mostly rebuilt, now that trade is flowing well between the humans and the dwarfs once more. King Harrowmont did well on his promises, and now even the Dalish are trading with us openly. There is a stall just outside of the gates to Arl of Denerim's Keep that is held specifically for the Dalish."

The warrior was slightly stunned. It had only been a year but.. she had done a great many things. He felt guilt in his gut for what he had said to her in the Landsmeet, if he had known she had planned this... His mind stopped. _Would you really have stayed? He killed Duncan and she conscripted him._ The Warden's mind faltered, but he did not know the answer to his own question.

The aura of melancholy only increased as they inched closer to his old home. Scenario after scenario ran behind his eyelids. Sometimes Arl Eamon would run to him and embrace him, sobbing apologizes, and asking him to stay for forever. Other times the same Arl would scream for Alistair's head on a pike, refusing to listen to his pleadings. Sometimes Eamon was dead and it was Lady Isolde who greeted him, rudely, with a new husband on her arm. One even had the Arl simply look at him and welcome him like a stranger would.

All of them hurt equally, for one reason or another.

As the sun rose past the tree-line on the last morning, the constant waves of guilt slowly drowning Alistair rose to an all-time high. For as the two on horses moved towards the village he had once saved, he could clearly see the construction of a statue. It was a woman. In a pose that could rival Andraste's. Except she was in full battle armour and wielding her long sword and shield offensively, the words of the Cousland house etched into one side of the blade and the words of the Grey Wardens on the other while the crossing reeds sigil of her house decorated the shield. As the white marble statue of Emily rose, Alistair's hopes plummeted.

"She's going to die, isn't she?" _Why else build her a statue?_ He barely heard himself speak, but by the swivel of Zevran's head, he spoke loud enough. Perhaps it was just the blood rushing between his ears but he swore he saw fear in the elf's eyes. For once, the elf seemed not to have anything to say back. His shoulders sagged, and he turned away from Alistair.

The human man was in awe as they came near to the bridge leading out to Redcliffe castle, it all looked so much different but so much the same. The village seemed to be thriving, some of the wooden shacks had been replaced with stone buildings and the people below looked happy and healthy and there was an abundance of children. As he had expected, there was a group of Knights outside the gate. One of which Alistair remembered vividly; Ser Perth.

_"What should I call you then, M'Lady?"_

_"Oh, well… Emily would be nice. Or even Warden Emily would be better than 'lady'." Her tone had roused him from his little day-dream. His eyes were drawn to her form, the most relaxed he'd seen her in days. One hip popped out to the side, a hand resting on the curve. Her other hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her helmet tucked under her arm and a gentle smile on her soft-looking lips._

_"Alright then, Warden Emily," the man was too obvious, even to Alistair. He was leaning much closer than he had to. Trying his best to touch her without looking too eager. This Ser Perth was trying to be sweet and suave. Attempting to woo Emily…_

_And it seemed to be working. At least, he assumed so by the gentle pink on her usually pale skin. "So, Ser Perth, we have some time before nightfall—"_

_A grin lit up the Knight's face faster than he could draw his sword. Alistair noticed how her body stiffened at being cut off. "What do you suggest we do?" The man even had the gall to touch the side of the woman's face, even though she rolled her blue-white eyes, she kept a smile._

_"I was going to suggest you tell me what the situation is like in town before the attacks, when only the Arl was sick."_

_His face visibly fell, and Alistair cracked a smile before returning to his day dreams._

Trying to keep his usually over-emotional face impassive, he rode behind Zevran to the gates, where the men didn't even ask any questions. They must have recognized Zevran, which made Alistair think. Why would all of Emily's allies welcome Zevran like this, had they.. no, he didn't want to think of them tangled together. However, nothing Zevran said about her made it sound like they had become lovers, perhaps he was on her payroll now, or just did as she asked because, well she sometimes had that effect on people.

Arl Eamon stood on the top of the stairs in the courtyard, a smile on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Eyes with more crows feet than Alistair remembered being there. The little amount of hair her had left and the growing mass of hair on his face were streaked white through the grey. The Arl wore his doublet and leggings as he always did, bright flashy colours that represented Redcliffe. Oranges, reds and pinks with golden trim, he looked quite good for an ageing man. Beside him was his Orleasian wife, dressed in similar colours, her once soft brown hair now streaked with grey. On Eamon's other side stood Teagan, wearing the colours of his Bann. His smile more welcoming than Eamon's and… at least existent in comparison to Isolde.

"Welcome Zevran, and welcome Alistair! Welcome back, I should say," Arl Eamon hurried as fast as his aging and heavier body would carry him down the steps towards the two on horses as they dismounted. The Arl's arms wrapped around Alistair as the elder man whispered another 'welcome back.'

To say he was taken back would be a little bit of an understatement. Alistair was absolutely bewildered. First of all, Arl Eamon embraced him in front of an audience! Second of all, Arlessa Isolde hadn't spoken a word to him (always a welcomed feat) and third of all… he actually felt welcomed.

For the first time since he entered the Landsmeet all those months ago, he felt good. So his arms pulled the aging man closer to his body and he heard him huff out a breath but did not let go. "I am glad to be back," Alistair heard himself whisper, even if he didn't know why. He almost completely forgot about the elf smiling softly, following behind them.

Eamon began to lead him into the castle, Isolde on their heels, thankfully silent. While Bann Teagan stayed back to speak with Zevran lowly. Alistair couldn't care for their words, for once he felt at home.


	6. Six

**I see I have some people reading my story and I wanted to thank you! Please, feel free to send reviews! I would love to hear what you think, or if you have any suggestions for me! **

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"It is such a shame you cannot stay any longer," the young woman cooed into Zevran's ear, her tiny hands clasped onto his forearm. Alistair fidgeted noticeably, attempting to keep his face stoic. Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes, he repeated mentally. Zevran's smooth laugh and gentle patting made the woman unlatch from him.

"A shame, maybe. But there is no shame for how we spent our time here, yes? I will return, my dear lady." His accent seemed to be what wooed them, Alistair noted, too edgy to think about anything but the now.

Denerim was next. Denerim… the place he lost everything he had know, his lover, his claim, the only family he had known since Duncan, where he was exiled, all of it. For now, Alistair focused on the way Zevran picked up woman as a distraction. "Really? Do you promise?"

It was nearly sickening. "Of course, my dear. I promise I will return." One cat-like smile and he was on his horse. As smoothly as physically possible. A little less graceful mount and Alistair too was on a horse.

"Goodbye, Zevran…" Her girlish giggle was all that Alistair focused on as Zevran led them from the stables.  
A small snort left him at the irony he felt as he left the stables. When he lived here as a child all he wanted was to be someone. Now, when he was someone, all he wanted to do was to curl up in the hay loft and hide from the big mean world. Oh, how people change.

The two paraded themselves through the village, taking the scenic route up to the bridge, where the knights – including Ser Perth – were waiting with the family. A brief goodbye and a promise to visit and they were off.

The three day visit felt more like a week-long visit into his past. His past before her. He caught up with Eamon about Ferelden, while the questions about his whereabouts were notably ignored, which he had to admit was nice. The Arl was accommodating, providing both information and entertainment.

Apparently, since his departure and the end of the Blight the darkspawn had set up a new goal. One that Eamon knew only little about, from Emily. They had divided into two factions and were at war. Like the born hero she was meant to be, Emily slaughtered them in countless numbers and seemed to end whatever war they had been having. Though, darkspawn were still threatening the areas and the Wardens needed to be ever vigilant.

The days flew by as Denerim approached steadily on the horizon, Alistair began to wonder about the illness Emily was suffering. Though, he couldn't out and say that. No, that'd be too easy, and be much too complacent.

So, one evening while eating the lamb Zevran had roasted on a spit – he was a very good cook, but still Alistair watched everything – he questioned the Elf. "So… tell me more of what has happened with the Wardens."

He ignored the small, almost unnoticeable grin on the Assassin's face, "Well, after the Blight ended there was a ceremony, a funeral for Loghain, the same that crowned Anora Queen and she offered that boon to Emily. After that, Wynne, Shale and Sten left on a boat, the Qunari back to home and the women left for Tevinter. Aparently they are searching for a way to return Shale to her body, or perhaps build her another? I cannot imagine Shale as a dwarf, but I digress. Me, the Warden, Leliana and Maxwell left for Highever that evening, after the party, of course. Morrigan had left on the night before the battle after harsh words she and the Warden shared. Oh, we accompanied Fergus back to Highever too. When we got there we spent time helping rebuild and reconstruct, then Leliana left back to Orlais, something about the Chantry. I admit, I was not listening when she left as she was in one of those little Orlesian dresses and.. mm, yes." Zevran paused for a long moment, as if trying to recall the order of things. "After the bard left, we continued to help her brother rebuild his home with the help of the elves he hired, until a missive from the First Warden came, announcing her as the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. A lovely young woman, much younger than the Warden and so much more innocent, came to collect her and bring her to Vigil's Keep – where we are headed – to meet the Orlesian Wardens stationed there. I stayed in Highever for a while longer.

"But, as I was told when she arrived there was no welcoming party, and the Keep was being attacked by darkspawn. She quickly dispatched them, finding an apostate mage – that Ander's man – and Oghren in the Keep. There was a talking darkspawn that they killed." Alistair's brows shot up in question, but he kept his mouth shut. "Right as that happened the Queen appeared at the Vigil's gates. They spoke to her briefly, conscripted the mage and then did the "Joining"." The Elf smiled at Alistair, a little reassuring smile.

"All but the woman survived, so I'm told. Later that evening while the other two were resting she conscripted the Howe, who has turned out to be quite loyal, now that things are set straight in his mind. Hah, it's nearly funny to think about. Apparently at one point he tried to sneak into her room to kill her," Alistair felt his muscles tighten in an anger he could not understand, he was supposed to hate her. Zevran was almost as good a storyteller as Leliana, "instead, he found her armoured on top of her blankets, sharpening her sword menacingly. From what Oghren tells me it was quite the interesting night. I believe he said, ahem," he took on a deeper voice, mocking Oghren's gruff tone, "'The sodding nug-humper came back into the common room, his face more lookin' worse than a bronto's ass! Got nearly ripped apart, but I think he liked it, his armour was looking a little too tight! Har har!' Those were his words not mine.

"It wasn't long after when I arrived, you already know how that one went. Weeks passed and Leliana returned as well. During our stay at the Keep the Warden was taken by this "Architect", one of the talking darkspawn who had ordered the attack on the Keep, I hear. When she returned, she returned with an Orlesian rogue, Warden Risel Tucker. Quite the fellow he is, tall man, dark hair, bright green eyes, and," Zevran seemed reluctant to say it, "Nearly better with women than I."

Alistair laughed at that. A loud, belly laugh that left him shaking his head, though it feel good to laugh again! He felt as if a small weight resting on his chest was lifted, even if it was at the expense of the only friend he had known in a year. The humour in it was not lost on him.

"We ought to sleep now, Zev. We've got a long ride tomorrow; perhaps you will indulge me again tomorrow night." Of course, the rogue nodded his agreement and with that, he crawled into his tent, where he slept well for one night.

Morning came, and morning went. As did the nights. A week and a half passed and they were at the Gates of Denerim, the same gates he'd cursed at, and sworn he'd never seen again. Like most of the other places he had seen since his return to Ferelden it looked different, better even. The wooden gates were now stone and manned by only a handful of guards. A wave of emotion filled his body, which was looking less weak than when Zevran found him, clean-shaven and tidy. Even his armour was pristine. The splintmail was like a familiar second skin on him, heavy enough for defence yet light enough for movement.

The gates were currently open, and he and Zevran joined the crowd of people rushing into the city to set up their shops as it was sun-up. Men, women, carts, and horses were a never ending stream into the city, there was even a few dwarfs standing on top of their caravans to see ahead as their mules pulled them along. Simply following the current led them to the Market district, where they grabbed fresh fruit for something to eat while they slowly rode towards the castle.

The keep itself must have taken heavy fire during the Blight, as most, if not all, of it looked to be newly built. From the tall towers there were banners hung in the colours that Queen Anora must have decided to be her house colours. Rich purples and greens and blues decorated the banners as they fluttered in the wind, and when Alistair peered around, he saw he seemed to be the only one that cared. Even the streets were better off than they were, paved with a finer stone. He even took a glance to where Goldanna had called home, but now it had been joined with the new forge, where three dwarfs and a human worked tirelessly on armour. The rest of the Market looked much the same, he decided as they began to cross the bridge to where the Alienage once stood. It too was improved, but still looked poor compared to the rest of the city.

They were meeting Queen Anora officially, so it was to be held in the Palace district, a half-hours ride in the traffic of the morning commute. As they grew closer, the invisible hand on his insides tightened. He closed his eyes as his horse instinctively followed Zevran's.

_She stood over the older man, his sword gone now, arms raised. "I surrender, I surrender. You… you are indeed powerful. I have… underestimated you."_

_"Yes, yes you have," She whispered. Alistair was close enough to hear her, as was the man kneeling before her. His eyes locked with hers and they seemed to be conversing without speaking._

_Anora shrieked from the side of the chamber and began to run to where her father lay bloodied on the ground, defeated. "Do not kill him Warden! I beg of you, his crimes have been many, yes, but he does not need to die—"_

_Riordan spoke next, "It does not have to be this way."_

_"What..?"_

_"Allow Loghain to join the Warden's, we are too few as it is…" His voice drifted off, as if slightly uncertain of this himself._

_"No! Absolutely not!" he shouted, causing Emily to jump a little and spin back to face him. "This… this man killed the King, he killed Duncan! I will not be his brother!"_

_Emily was chewing her lip then, a nervous habit she had, her fingers fiddling with the plate of her armour "I… I…" She seemed stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her face turned, her helm lay on the ground, forgotten. Her eyes were almost white like hot embers, tinged blue with sadness as she stared into Alistair's face. Her expression begging him to listen. Only his face twisted in disgust._

_"You…" He couldn't speak, he could barely hear her speak over the pounding of blood in his ears._

_"For Loghain's crimes he is to be conscripted into the Grey Wardens, to become what he very nearly destroyed. He will server under me-us! He will not be our General." Alistair noticed her pointed stare at Anora, had they spoken of this already?_

_Rage ran through his body. "No! No! I refuse to be his brother! If he is to become a Grey Warden, I will no longer be one!"_

_"Alistair, please…" Now, reliving the memory, he was almost compelled to listen._

_"No!" His yelled, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "Make your decision Warden," he spat the title at her feet. "It's me, or him. I cannot be the brother of the man who killed Duncan!"_

_"Alistair, please listen, I have a—"_

_"A plan? Fuck your plans! So much for it all, was everything we had a plan too? Goodbye, Emily." With that, the man turned and began storming from the palace._

_Then the voice of the harpy sung: "If you leave now, you renounce the throne!"_

_"Take it, take the fucking throne, you won't see me again, ever. I renounce my claim on it and I will leave Ferelden forever, tonight!"_

_Alistair turned, only enough to see Riordan and Emily. He stood tall, almost proud of his actions, while tears leaked from her eyes. She was a strong woman, she almost never cried, he noted now. He had made her cry. That moment was soon erased by alcohol though, a good enough solution for him._

With the memories came the guilt. With the reawakening from his nightmare came the sight of the cause. Before him was the Palace gate all steel and stone, fashioned to be strong under the harsh weather of Ferelden winters, green grass and fresh flowers came from the Garden's to either side of the courtyard they were trotting up to.

And then, from the grand entrance came the Queen and her entourage with a flourish. Anora, Queen Anora hadn't changed, her skin was taunt still, hair tied too tightly and her face painted to try to look naturally beautiful. A snake's smile twisted her face. "Greetings Zevran Arainai, and greetings to you as well, Warden Alistair Theirin."


	7. Seven

**Switching it up a bit!**

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Shifting uncomfortably on the large wooden chair, he tried to keep himself interested in what was going on around him. Instead, his vision kept moving around to stare at the walls, counting the stones that confined him in this place. The wooden framed paintings staring back at him, scolding him for not paying attention. His feet swung lazily above the ground as he stared out into the crowd of nobles in the Keep. The Seneschal Varel guy stood in front of the crowd, like she used to. Waving his hands as he spoke, taking over her job running the place, while the uncomfortable dwarf in the chair had been left in charge of the people.

A shuffle made him tilt his head slightly, the rest of the Warden's looked as uncomfortable as him, each for their own reason. They now numbered thirteen with the loss of Justice, who had decided his time was up and the body of the man he was using needed to be returned to the widow. A noble thing, even Oghren agreed.

Velanna, the Dalish elf who would rather bite your hand off than give a normal greeting, stood in the furthest corner from the group of human nobles, scowling at whomever sent a glance her way. He almost felt sorry for her, but the alcohol ever present in his body made that near impossible, so he snickered at her dismay. It was her own fault they treated her like a whore, she was always quite scantily clothed. And had a beautiful ass.

The Legionnaire Scout Sigrun stood near Nathaniel Howe, the eldest son of the traitorous bastard Rendon Howe. The two seemed emerged in a deep conversation about techniques they used to do… rogue-y stuff. The dwarf on the chair couldn't care less, as long as one of the two got the job done.

Tucker was standing in his assigned position, his eyes only shifting to watch the proceedings with a dull unease, the silly half-grin on his lips, even now. They all had better things to do, but it was required that they were all there. Beside him stood another Warden, a newer recruit. At each entrance, all three of them from the throne room, were at least two Wardens. Tucker and the new one; a city elf who was scary good with a bow, were stationed at the entrance leading into the rest of the Vigil. An older recruit and another newer recruit were stationed by the other entrance to the Keep; a wide scary looking human with a two handed sword to mock Sten's and a silent dwarven woman covered in weapons. The last four almost unnoticeable Wardens stood at the main gate. All four were human and used weapon and shield techniques and one was a woman.

Last was Ander's, who stood to the right of Oghren's chair, his fingers fiddling constantly. Going from pocket to pocket, then through his hair, then to the chair and back into a pocket. His eyes flickered towards the Commander's chambers. He and Velanna had been the ones taking care of her. Ser Pounce-a-lot poked his head from the mage's robes to mewl in the dwarf's ears softly.

He had to admit he had a soft spot for the little kitten.

Seneschal Varel finally kicked the nobles out, claiming they had things they needed to do. Oghren muttered something that sounded a lot like 'about fucking time', buteven if Varel heard it, he said nothing about it. "Warden Oghren, thank you for staying awake this time around," Varel spoke in a deep voice.

He was even tall for a human, which caused the dwarf to crane his neck up to nod gruffly at the man. "I nearly didn't make it there." He said, watching the Warden's all relax as the cooks began to bring out the food. Everyone was going to stay to eat, including the ever-twitchy Anders. Pulling what one would assume to be a skin of alcohol from the confines of his armour, Oghren took a healthy swig and offered a wink at Varel, "But I did."

Taking his place at the head of the table, the Dwarf stood on his chair to bring attention to himself. From the corner of his eye, he saw his Felsi holding their child in a corner. Had she been there the whole time? He wondered, stifling the smile that threatened to break onto his face. Clearing his throat all the Wardens and even the guards of the Vigil who now ate with them stood. "For long nights we've sat in here wondering what has happened to the Commander. But tonight, we do not. Tonight, we drink in her name and toast to get her healthy, ya' hear? In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Now, drink!" After his little heart-warming speech the Wardens all let out a cheer, and dove into their food and drink.

As Oghren finished eating, Felsi came over, her hair tied back like he remembered. Her eyes warm and inviting, their babe bundled in her arms. "You haven't drank too much I hope, you sodding bronto-turd?" Her tone was light and joking, the insults they flung at each other only their versions of foreplay almost.

"Only enough to think you're pretty," he grinned and belched a little. It was true, Oghren was cutting down on the booze, both for the Commander and his family. He curled a plated finger under the baby's chin, tickling her lightly. They hadn't named her yet, but they had an idea in mind. But, until the Commander awkened they were unable to ask it, so for the time being, the little couple called the child 'Baby'.

"Well, if you're done trying to out drink your subordinates, we should head to bed." She spoke softly, trying to keep that easily flaring temper under check as she urged him to sleep. Sighing, Oghren got from his chair, nodded goodnight to the remaining Wardens who were drinking themselves into a stupor and headed to bed.

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"Stupid dwarf, drinking to one's health implies they are in good health," muttered the blonde in robes, his hair tied loosely behind his head, sloppily done, but his body was worn with lack of sleep. He'd spent night after night watching over her, healing her periodically, as if it'd help. Which it wasn't. Velanna covered day shifts, and he night ones, but he still had to be up by noon to do his Warden duties, so, in the end, Anders got the short end of the stick.

Pulling himself up the stairs towards the main bedrooms where the elder Wardens stayed, including everyone who had been involved with the Architect, he headed towards the 'master bedroom'. It once belonged to Rendon Howe, but now it belonged to the woman who killed him. As he opened the door, he was surprised, per normal, at how the room looked.

She had a very good sense of style, he had to admit. Against the far wall was a large four-poster bed with a thin veil of red silk hanging over for privacy, it had been that way since Nate had walked in on her. A small chuckled washed over his body at the memory. The walls were lined with paintings, many she'd done herself when she was awake…

Her illness was a strange one. When she first become sick she had been raked with fever until she fell into a coma-like state. Just over two months ago, after Zevran, the close companion to the Commander, left she awoke with a start. Gasping for air as if she were drowning, her body sweating and muscles freaking. She had looked as if she was pulsing, before she fell back into her silent sleep. Sometimes he had to double check she was still breathing. It had been nearly five months since she'd gotten sick and her heart was getting weak. Now, every once and a while she would wake from her state and start talking, get up and move around, but her eyes were blank and she would not speak to any-body.

During these sleepwalking periods she had three types of experiences. The first was rage; she would scream, inflict pain on herself, run at walls and throw things. During these rages they would now strap her down to her bed. The second was calm; complete and utter serenity, she would gracefully get from her bed and try to do something, recently they had equipped the room with both writing utensils and painting supplies for her. When she wrote it was in a strange language, and it looked as if she were taking notes, when she painted it was of a strange place, a beautiful place. The third 'phase' was lucid; these were the shortest. Waking with a start, she would talk. Not moving she would speak in the same strange language as she'd been writing. No one was able to translate what she was saying yet, but still they sent after the most exotic translators, hoping that they would be they key to regaining her health.

Anders sighed, opening his 'bag of magic' to begin his nightly ritual and thought of the first time she had called it such.

_They were in the Blackmarsh, resting in a burnt down and broken building, once a home by the size and shape. Nate was sitting on the wall, on watch, while Oghren started a small fire and Anders looked after a nasty wound the Commander had received. All during the time, she chatted idly with the dwarf. "You know, one of the reasons I agreed to let in Leliana was because she had to be a better cook than him," she waved a hand a little, hissing through her teeth as she pulled on her wound._

_Anders slapped the back of her head lightly, cutting off Oghren, "Commander, please, stop moving! It's hard enough to heal you when you refuse to remove your armour completely, with you moving it's worse."_

_Oghren's laugh echoed the commander, "Oh you sound just like Wynne," she whispered softly, her chuckles still vibrating her body. "I spent nearly a year and a half around four men and a lesbian, Anders, I feel the need to keep myself covered now." She glanced over her shoulder at the mage, whose hands were forcing magic to probe through her thick plate armour._

_A shudder ran through his body as he met those eyes of hers, they were unsettling. They were so pale they seemed white except near the pupil, where they were the slightest shade of blue. "Plus, you've got your bag of magic, you're all good." She addedwith a smile._

_"Excuse me? My bag of magic?"_

_The Commander seemed perplexed that Anders was confused. "Yes, your little bag there. yes, that one. The one you keep your poultices and herbs in."_

_"... My satchel?"_

_"I prefer bag of magic."_

_Oghren was the first to laugh but the Commander joined in soon enough. "Just run with it, girly-boy. She won't let it go now."_

_His laughter stopped when a stone bounced off of his helm, a cheeky smile on the woman's face. "Hush you."_

_"Am I lying? You never let him forget he couldn't cook, or that Wynne was old, or that I was always drunk-"_

_She scoffed, "I was trying to get you to stop drinking, that's why. And I hoped my encouragement would make him better at cooking!"_

_"Oh, he couldn't cook for his life and I doubt he ever will! You all asked me why I was drunk all the time? Yeah, I blame his cooking, I had to be drunk or else I'd not be able to eat."_

_Her laugh shook her whole body, Nathaniel sent her a dirty look, that she met without flinching. He seemed to shuffle back. "You may want to quiet down __**Commander**__," he added the emphasis, "there are still many enemies around—"_

_She scoffed at him, rolling her head to the side, "I took down the sodding Archdemon with worse wounds than these, I can handle a few more werewolves. Hell, I had a huge gash across my throat and I still got that fucker in the eye…"_

Anders watched her sleeping form with a small smile while he remembered that. Checking her temperature with the back of his hand, he wrote it down in the shared journal on the side of her bed that Velanna and himself wrote notes in. And so, he began to write:

_Night 157._

_Temperature has lessened again, sign for another phase. Sleeping again when arrived. Complexion is paler than regular, unmoved since night before. Been six nights since last phase, if the pattern holds, the next should be "lucid"._

He shut the journal, knowing he would not need it again that night, and settled into the chair next to her bed. As the night went on and the man watched his Commander he noticed that Velanna had changed her again. Her body was covered in a loose fitting pair of breeches and tunic, her hair let out of its normal bun, twisted to lay on the pillow like a coil by Velanna's hands. She was thinner than he ever remembered, her skin was beginning to grey from age and malnutrition. They tried to feed her regularly, forcing ground food down her throat, followed by drink but it did not always stay down.

Anders felt sleep begging to overcome him when a noise at the door made him jump out of his chair, knocking the pitcher of water at his arm over onto the floor, and throwing the chair to the ground. "H-hello?" He squeaked.

The door opened and one of the young Wardens joined him, it was the dwarf woman. She was darker in skin, her hair a blue black, and eyes a glimmering type of grey. She nodded to Anders, crossing her arms in a bow. She didn't speak often, but she wasn't the type of female dwarf who cut out their tongues to show their faith, or something. Anders knowledge of dwarven customs was limited. The commander once explained to him that the tattoo on her cheek explained she was a 'casteless' one without a place in Orzammar. Worse than a beggar, but no more. Natila Brosca was her name, rescued by the Commander from being executed for something she had no real hand in; the Commander had seen her strength and will. She had mentioned something about it being something Duncan would do.

"Greetings Ser Mage, there are two at the Gate waiting for you, we were informed not to wake Oghren by his wife or risk have our ears kept as trophies, but to come to you instead," she had no real emotion in her voice. Those eyes spoke enough, she respected Oghren's wife's orders, or feared her threat at least.

With a nod, Anders gathered himself from his corner, placing one small spell over the sleeping lady and headed towards the door. "Set up a guard here and a runner, to inform me if she so much as moves."

Brosca nodded and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the keep to inform whom she needed to, as Anders headed towards the Gates.

At the gates, he found two men on horse. The first horse's man was thin and short, an elf. His face was structured like a sculpture, the exotic markings making him stand out. Zevran was back. The man behind him seemed at unease seeing the mage. He could feel the bags under his eyes, but he waved at them as he neared. The man was taller, broad and seemed as if he knew how to use the weapons strapped to his body. Then the chill ran through him. That familiar chill of his mana being touched by an outside force.

The second man was a Templar. This made Anders quite uneasy.

"Ah, dear Mage, you come to greet us, which means Oghren as fallen asleep on the table again?" Zevran's accent always seemed to relax the mage, it had a soothing tone to it. It reminded him of one of his mentors at the tower, she had been an immigrant from Antiva who wielded magic fiercly and felt trapped in the tower. She too made her opinions known.

"Actually no, his wife is here and she would probably pluck my eyes out and pop them into her drink as decoration if I woke them," an easy grin lit the mage's face. "Who is this, Zev?"

The Elf hopped from the horse, the man did the same. As he landed, his hood fell back and something hit Anders in the chest. He looked like one of the men in the paintings the Commander had done recently. Swallowing hard, Anders continued to analyze the man. His hair was short and well cared for, his face smooth other than a little stubble on his cheeks, his jaw was strong and his face nervous. Good.

"This? This is Alistair, the man who will be replacing Emily for now."

The man, Alistair, nodded at Anders stiffly. Before looking around. Taking in the look of his Keep? Perhaps, he seemed a good enough man... for a Templar. For now. "Well… you picked a fine time to get here Zevran, I'll get someone to show you to your chambers, I have to go back to babysitting duty." Anders shot a smile at the elf, who seemed perplexed. He'd explain in the morning.

As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel the stare of the templar on his back, "Tucker!" His voice brought the tall man to him, a permanent half-grin on his face. Risel preferred to be called by his last name, plus, Tucker just fit him better. "Tucker, show them to their rooms please."

The man nodded, and with a widened smile, led them into the Keep after Anders.


	8. Eight

**And another one down.**

* * *

Lifting the most recent painting Anders examined it. It was a grove of sorts with twisted trees and colourful leaves hanging as if it took too much effort to flower, there were also ruins in there. They seemed as if they were once a gazebo or white marble, now broken and overgrown with green, brown and purple. In the ruins is a man, a man looking oddly like the new Commander, Alistair was his name. Anders tried to remember, but sleep boggled his mind. The lost man in the painting seemed to be sad about something, as he was doubled over as if in emotional pain.

A knock on the door startled the mage into dropping the painting loudly to the floor. Swearing colourfully he went to retrieve the piece of art as Velanna let herself in, a bowl in one hand, the other twisting the materials inside with magic. Ander's shuddered, even he found her tree-hugging magic unnerving.

"Oh please, do come in," he muttered, nearly angry as he went to place the painting back.

Apparently she didn't understand sarcasm, "Mm.. thank you." Continuing her way into the room, she took Anders' seat and started talking, still distracted. "I've come up with a new idea, using magic that induces sleep and mixing it with double the amount of a reversal effect. I will feed her some with her next meal. Hopefully it will counter-act whatever she's on."

Rolling his eyes, he held back a sigh, "How do we know she's 'on' something and not 'under' something? Hmm?"

Velanna looked at him for the first time since she walked in, her eyes piercing and uncaring, "Go to bed Anders, you'll be taking care of our newest guests more-so than Oghren, he can barely wipe himself."

Anders thought to argue, but she did have it right. Sometimes they as a whole questioned the dwarf that had been their replacement leader. He was not the most intellectual of sorts and had already almost killed one of the new recruits during a spar because he had been a little too drunk.

So he gave in to the bossy woman and exited the room, carefully shutting the door behind him with a deep sigh. Not even a second after the door clicked shut, he heard yelling from a room downstairs. Eyes growing wildly, he threw himself down the stairs towards the noise, following the sound of rage.

"You sodding pike-twirler! I ought to _skin you_ right here! Lemme go, you nug-humping, dust-eating, man-whore! I'll rip your teats off and shove them down your throat-"

"Oghren! Please, calm down!" As Anders burst into the room he took in the situation. Alistair was up against a wall, nursing a nasty looking cut on his arm, Zevran was standing where Emily's desk used to be - as it had been relocated to an upside-down position on the furthest wall - trying to serve as a barrier. And Oghren... well Varel and Nate were gripping his arms tightly, nearly heaving him from the carpeted floor. As Felsi tried to quiet her crying babe. The giant war axe that had obviously been brandished in the room was, surprisingly, lodged into the stone across the room, far too close to the new commander than he would like.

"Hey! Hey!" Anger bubbled in Anders chest, how dare they fight here. This was her space to command, not to be defiled by some silly argument. "Have you no respect for the Commander?" Alistair rose his head, thinking it was him, "She may be dead and all the noise your making might just stop her heart completely! Not to mention there is no reason you should even be in here Oghren! Now that Alistair is here you are no longer in command!"

"But this sodding arsehole-"

"Enough!" It was Zevran now, looking the scariest he'd ever been. "Later, once you've calmed we shall speak on this, Oghren, but not till then. Alistair must get settled, there is work to get done."

It took several minutes for the surprisingly strong Varel and lean Nathaniel to haul Oghren off, followed by the wife and child. Tucker stepped into the room as they wrestled him out, a confused smile on his face. "Anders," he said to break the unhealthy silence, "heal the new Commander's wound, if you would."

Without a reply he headed over to the Templar slowly, healing him from a safe distance. Noticing the flinching the man was making, as if holding back the urge to sap him. "Thank you, Ser Mage..."

"Anders," the blonde bowed slightly, keeping his guard up and his eyes on the man. What had he said or done to make Oghren so mad? There were only a handful of times he had ever seen the dwarf fly into a fit like that and they all had to do with many darkspawn and many injuries. When he looked up again to ask Zevran a few questions, the elf was gone, leaving Anders mildly confused.

"Anders..." Alistair seemed to be distant before he shook himself back into reality. "Alright, so... I assume this is my office?"

Tucker took over from there. "Yes, let me escort you through the Keep, Anders, if you need rest, now would be the time to take it."

Exhausted and weak, the mage merely nodded before heading to his rooms, falling asleep the moment his dreary head hit the pillows. In his dreams everything back to normal and he was not alone in his bed...

* * *

"Now, if you'll follow me Commander-" Tucker was waving them on and Alistair swallowed hard before clearing his throat.

"Please... just... Alistair, while she is still... alive, she stays Commander." His discomfort with the title rooted from the memories of her leading them. He could almost see her leading the armies they gathered into battle, before reality washed over him. Tucker had cleared his throat.

Waving a hand the man walked them forwards. He led them outside into the courtyards where the bombmaster and his brother were bickering over the dents in the new fortification, Tucker explained these things to Alistair as they walked. He led them to the barracks, where the soldiers of Vigil's Keep slept and trained, the houses of the families, and the large garden behind the keep with it's man-made pond with fish sitting in the center, three white benches evenly spaced out around it.

As he was being led, Alistair watched the man and how he walked with the courage of a warrior, but the lean posture of a rogue. The man also wore full armour around his own Keep, Alistair noted these things, wondering if there was a feud between the Grey Wardens and the regular soldiers, but he couldn't see it.

Finally, as they finished the tour of the lower stories of the actual Keep, Alistair cracked, "What are you trained as, Ser Tucker?"

The man turned to face him, his face was lightly tanned, strong chiseled jaw with a slightly pointy nose, his eyes a vibrant green and his hair a soft brown. Oddly enough, he laughed. "Well, I was a theif, but I now fight like a warrior."

The expression he wore must've been ridiculous, because the man began to laugh harder, a rich belly laugh. "I was tossed out when I was a kid, grew up on the streets in Orlais and had to learn how to pick pockets, break locks and such, but once I joined the Order... I decided I needed to learn to fight like a real man." His grinned at Alistair and started walking again.

"...so, this is where you will be staying, you will not be getting the master room, the Commander..." His speech slowed slightly, with regret? "... that is where she stays. These rooms belong to the rest of the Senior Wardens, and the Junior Wardens stay down that hallway there. I suppose you should see the Commander."

Alistair nearly told the man no, but his throat constricted and he felt dizzy, how would he react to seeing her again? Would he fly into a rage like Oghren did? Would he just break down? Stealing himself and taking a deep breath he strode after Tucker, who was opening a large door for him.

He felt as if he was walking into the fade. That's what the paintings struck him as. Swallowing hard, the new commander looked to the elf sitting in a chair, watching something hidden from behind red silk covers. She watched him approach, she spoke to him, but he did not hear.

All he could hear was her voice, singing softly...

_"In the quiet misty morning, when the moon has gone to bed..."_

_Alistair felt dirty doing this, following her as she struck out into the darkness of the forest towards Lake Calenhad, following the sound of her voice._

_"When the sparrows stop their singing, and the sky is clear and red..."_

_He couldn't help it though, ever since he saw her in the heat of battle in only a nightdress, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight._

_"When the summer ceased it's gleaming, when the corn is past it's prime..."_

_Heat rushed down his body as he remembered the delightful curves of her hips, nearly visible under the soft cotton she had been wearing, the way the strong muscles of her thighs as she lunged for the nearest shriek._

_"When adventures lost it's meaning, I'll be homeward bound in time..."_

_That was when he could see the water, there was little light from the sky that night, it was cloudy but warm. But he could make out her lithe form, stepping out of her armour as easy as if it were silk._

_"Bind me not to the pasture, chain me not to the plough..."_

_Oh, Alistair wanted to bind her down, and chain her up so she couldn't get away, to keep her safe or for.. other reasons, either way it made his mind reel. Since when had he thought like that? He had been spending too much time with Zevran._

_"Set me free to find my calling, and I'll return to you somehow..."_

_He peered at her from his hidden spot as she stepped into the water, just then the moon broke from the clouds, allowing the former Templar to view her body in all it's glory. Her hips looked so hold-able, her breasts so soft. Alistair was nearly vibrating with desire._

_"If you find it's me you're missing-"_

_Alistair's foot broke a stick as he shifted and she stopped, spinning to look, but the moon's light faded, nearly as fast as Alistair ran back to the camp, her song still lingering in his mind like a vine._

Awaking from his daydreams, the Templar pulled back the sheets to look at the woman he was once in love with.

With a cry of dismay, he jumped back.

That was not his Emily. That was not even human any more. Her skin was the greyish tinge that the darkspawn wore, her hair thin and fragile, her face looked sunken and hollow and he could only imagine how red her eyes would be if she opened them. He felt sick.

Turning away, he met Zevran's downcast eyes. His own face green. "Perhaps we should get some work done." Purposefully, Alistair strode from the room, not even noticing himself in nearly each fade-like painting, he didn't care. A swirl of guilt, disgust, and anger drove him to take his new position like the man she'd have wanted him to be.


	9. Nine

**Just a short chapter.**

* * *

Everything was purple.

_Odd... I don't remember the sky being purple..._ She thought as she lifted her head and tilted it from side to side to see what was going on around her.

She lay in the center courtyard of Castle Highever, grass tickling her wrists and ankles. Her body clothed in a soft pink cotton dress and her feet bare. Wriggling her toes, shock ran up her spine when the feeling of needles erupted under her skin, causing her to gasp loudly.

A soft laugh touched her ears from her left. Spinning, the woman, no, she was a girl, blinked loudly at the figure, a young boy laying next to her. His hair a soft brown, skin sun kissed with a wide grin on his childish features. "You dosed off there, lil' sister."

"Fergus?" Her own voice surprised her, it was too high, too whiney to be right. And her head was starting to throb, things were not making sense to her.

The boy, her brother, sitting beside her gave her a strong look, "are you alright? You don't look so good, too much sun, hmm?"

Emily bit back her surprise and a smile touched her lips, "I must have fallen asleep.. I'm a little... confused..." Running soft, un-caloused fingers through her hair, the girl shuddered. "It felt so real..."

Fergus looked over at his little sister, her little legs poking out of her pink dress. Her odd-blue eyes wide in confusion. So, as all big brothers do, Fergus prodded her in an attempt to bug her. The banter began then. Until finally, Emily threw herself at her brother and began poking him back. She was getting the upper hand when two large hands hooked under her arms and lifted her from her older brothers laughing body. Twisting and wiggling, the girl turned to see her father holding her up effortlessly. His light brown hair streaked with grey, his lips turned up into a little smile, his eyes gleaming. "Now, now, pup. Your mother would be quite upset to see you rolling around in your new dress."

Giggling, the little girl got loose from her father, "she'd have to catch me first!"

The clearing of a throat caused the young girl to spin, Eleanor Cousland stood with her arms folded over her chest, and brow's lifted in challenge.

With a squeal, Emily began running from her family. Laughter trailing off behind her as she swerved through to flora in her courtyard. The child kept her eyes on the ground before her, the green-purple grass flew under her bare toes, her breathing coming out in heavy pants. Peering over her shoulder Emily noticed her family was no longer chasing her.

Slowly she decreased her pace, until the soft tickling of grass changed into the hard patter of feet on stone.

Spinning in surprise she double-checked her surroundings, she stood in the center of the great dining hall, those bare feet now clad in too-tight Orlesian styled heeled shoes, those childish chubby legs now longer and more elegant, but covered in a layer of silk or two.

A hand grasped her waist and she gasped in surprise, to find a startled Ser Gilmore staring her in the face. "I apologize my lady, did I scare you?"

Looking out behind Rodrick she noticed all the couples dancing, including her mother and father, and Fergus and his new Antivian wife.

"No.. of course not, I drifted there." Tilting her head up to meet her best friend, she took his offered hand, allowing his other arm to snake around her waist, spinning her in circles to the music. Rodrick's arms felt warm and soft on her back, his chest strong, his posture structured. Peering up at his face through her lashes, she tried to ignore her teenaged hormones kicking into gear. His eyes were a striking green, his nose and jaw strong, his mouth in a small smile, his cheeks a bright pink.

"Are you alright Ser Knight?" Lifting her hand from his shoulder, Emily placed it on his heated cheeks, feeling the pulsing of his blood under her finger tips.

That only made them hotter, "uh... well..." he looked down between the two of him, "I feel this is slightly inappropriate."

Confused, Emily tilted her head and smiled warmly, "and why's that? This is my brother's wedding and I am dancing with a man I trust, how is that wrong?"

He only blushed more, his hands tightened on her, drawing her closer. They danced, and danced, and danced. Her feet were throbbing and she was nearing the conclusion to remove the shoes causing the affliction when a slightly drunk Ser Gilmore pulled her towards the side entrance into the rest of the castle. Currently shielded from every one's view._ When had he gotten a drink?_ She wondered vaguely.

Emily, clinging to his chest, felt him swallow hard before opening his mouth a few times, snapping it shut each time. Before he could hurt his jaw, she lifted herself to her toes and pressed her lips to his, her fingers coming to his face, cradling his jaw in her hands.

When her eyes opened she was staring into the face of a young man with a bright blush on his face, his heavy plate armour shimmering in the fire-light. "I... I hope that wasn't too soon." His voice was so familiar and welcomed and it made her heart squeeze uncomfortably. Those brown-gold eyes of his pierced her very soul and made her squirm.

Emily took a moment to orient herself, "I think I may need more testing," she whispered as she pressed her lips to his once again, feeling him stiffen through her own plate armour. He was quick to learn though and his arms greedily wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer. A scoff brought them both back to reality, and quickly away from each other.

The grinning elf was standing, leaning heavily against a tree he waved the dagger in his hand, as if scolding them. "As attractive as that is, camp is packed and we must continue on, Wardens."

Blushing, the woman grasped Alistair's hand in her own, giving it a tight squeeze before taking a step backward. Then she fell.

Fell through a hole. A hole filled with purple, until she landed hard on the ground, a floating piece of landscape from her past with tainted trees twisting down to grasp her. Breathing deeply, Emily peered around herself, swearing oath after oath. "Why can't I get out of this_ fucking_ place!" Her shoulders shifted forward as she screamed into the ground, kicking a twisted tree with her plated boot.

Throwing herself into a rage, Emily began striking at the trees, drawing blood from her hands, teeth tearing a chunk from her lip when the tree struck back. Before she knew it, she was on her back, staring up at the purple sky. Having knocked herself down in her blind rage.

A laugh, layered with voices, sounded from her side and she heaved a groan. "Have you nothing better to do bitch?"

The purple demoness placed her hands on her hips, the black flame hair licking the horns protruding from her head. "Now, now, that is awfully rude. I offered you my assistance, yet you deny me. I can get you out of here, for a price."

"Let you into my body, yes, yes. I understand but I am not going to allow it."

"I don't see why not," she checked her nails, before moving over to Emily, kneeling beside her and trailing a finger up her cheek, "all I want is to enter the mortal world, I have no interest in you..."

"You want a mage. Trust me, I know. I've been stuck in the fade before, I just have to find a way out... and kill the demon trapping me here."

The demon heaved a sigh, rubbing her breast for a moment and making a show of it. "I won't give up on you, my sweet, I will get into the mortal world some how.. whither or not you allow me to use you. Good luck finding your way out."

Grunting as the demon disappeared into the ground, Emily hoisted herself to her feet. "Well, fade portal thirty-six, no go." Rubbing her hands over her eyes, she found the next one, and stepped through. Hoping that this one would not lead her back to Alistair again.


	10. Ten

**One more chapter and it will be all new content.**

* * *

Mumbling incoherently, he listened to the sound of his own feet clicking against the stone floor outside the room. It was the one day that the 'officers' as she had once deemed them, were allowed to sit back and relax. But there was no relaxing for Tucker. Risel rubbed his hands over his weary face, before snapping to attention at the sound of movement from inside the room. The female mage's tone was harsh as she dictated, watching Commander Cousland as she screamed in rage and moved against the bonds holding her down. Her rages were becoming more frequent and more violent, or so it seemed to him.

It had been nearly a week now, since the new commander, Alistair, had arrived. Tucker had seen little of the man, who spent most of his time holed up in an office doing paperwork, or watching the recruits from a distance. He did not eat with the Wardens, he did not speak with the Wardens. Only two people conversed with the new Commander regularily, Zevran and Varel.

Things had been surprisingly easy since he'd shown up, other than keeping him and Oghren separated. And damn could that dwarf throw a punch, Tucker rubbed a tanned hand against his slightly bruised jaw. There was a connection there, between these people. Trying as hard as he could, Tucker tried to remember some of the Commander's drunken story-telling about her days in the Blight.

Could this Alistair be the unnamed knight from her tales? Tucker thought on it, as he paced outside the room. Unlikely, he was too... quiet and sombre, so unlike the man she had described as being well humoured and in love with cheese and his hair.

The opening of the door startled him back into the present, snapping to attention in front of the weary elven mage. Velanna looked at him, her green eyes sharp, "Your pacing is becoming irritating, please remove yourself from the hall so I may note the process more accurately."

And the door was slammed closed.

Heaving a sigh, the rogue warrior left in search of food.

* * *

Alistair felt it as his stomach whined in protest. He tried glaring at his abdomen to make it stop, but that didn't seem to work. He tried telling it to wait, that also didn't work. And so, the new commander, who was nervous in his own keep took out into the halls.

He kept his head down, as if he would look up and see her standing there, arms crossed over her chest, lips pressed into a tight line, and her brows knotted in the familiar look of disappointment. Was that what he was afraid of? She would awaken and be utterly disappointed in him? Or that she would just simply ignore him, as he had her pleas. His stomach clenched, and then cried out for nourishment.

Turning the last corner before his destination, Alistair rose his head to catch sight of Tucker, who noticed him at the same time. Warm brown met deep green and they both stopped as they regarded each other, Tucker nodded his head and held the kitchen's door open. "After you... Alistair."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Alistair stepped through the door, listening as Tucker trailed after him. Silently, Alistair collected food for himself, his gut told him to eat, but his mind was telling him to flee. When Tucker, looking equally torn, waved Alistair into a seat he knew he could not refuse. Taking the seat across from the other man, they began to eat in an awkward silence.

Clearing his throat, Alistair looked up at the other man, his brown hair slightly shagged around his forehead. "So... how did you... meet the commander?"

The wrong question to ask, Tucker's brows furrowed his eyes boring into the table. Alistair shifted uncomfortable as the man spoke. His accent only barely noticeable, "I came with the other Orlesian Wardens who came to welcome Commander Cousland into her position. But the keep was attacked by darkspawn. I had been fighting them of course, and my brothers were dying around me, until a.. a talking dark spawn order to take the remaining ones alive. I tried to fight them off, I would rather be dead than captured.

"I don't remember how long I was down there, in the deep roads I mean. They had these cells already set up for us, the few of us that survived the journey down. When they captured us, there were nearly a dozen of us, but by the time we got down there..." He shuddered a little, and Alistair nearly asked him to stop. "There were 7 of us left then. This.. archetect, the "leader" of one group of darkspawn, I suppose, he was doing experiments on us. He took us one by one from the cell and.. Maker I do not even know what he did. All I know is that I did not see those brothers again."

Alistair nodded at the right times, his eyes now on the fruit on his plate.

"Then one day he just stopped coming for us, there was this... well she was an elf at one time, but the taint had ruined her body, but she retained her mind. She took care of us, the best she could. It was just me and one of the others I had been recruited with, Lancel. He was a good boy, no older than 18 I'm sure. He couldn't take it anymore, it was getting to him, being locked away in the cage for so long. He killed himself three nights before the Commander was thrown into the cell with me, along with Anders, Sigrun and Justice. That was the day I learned that not all hope was lost, that some had survived in the Keep."

"I'm so sorry," he dared to look up not. Tucker did not seem wounded, but resolved.

He nodded his thanks, and continued his story. "All four of them were beaten very badly and stripped of all weapons and armour like myself. But it did not stop them. Justice awoke first, but I think he was not really unconcious to begin with. He woke the mage and asked him to heal the others. Of course Anders did, he could not suffer to watch people in pain. They healed my wounds as well, and Commander decided we were going to escape.

"We did, obviously. After Sigrun picked the locks and scouted ahead to find our gear we got ourselves sorted. I remember the Commander saying,"This ends now. We find this darkspawn scum and we seperate his head from his shoulders. What say you?" and I just.. could not believe it. She had been dragged miles underground, beated and drugged, but she was going to kill this thing if it killed her."

Alistair laughed and nodded, feeling a real smile on his face in the first time in.. a long time. "That sounds very much like her. Did you do it, kill it?"

"Of course we did. It tried to make a deal with us, but we killed it and the Mother." He cocked his head while he regarded Alistair. "So you do know her from... before the Archdemon, I mean. She spoke of a few of her travelling companions without ever giving names. But I remember one of them being a Qunari.."

Coughing lightly, Alistair rubbed his face with his hands, "Uh, yes we were... um... close."

The man across the table lifted his head, a small grin touching his face, the perfection in his face structure almost made Alistair jealous. Almost. "Do you have any stories about her? I'm sure the men," after a second hesitation he added his afterthought, "and women, would enjoy knowing more. She was always very open with us but they did not have much time with her before she was called away."

His brow rose at the offer, before nodded numbly, "I could do that, I did... travel with her for a short period during the Blight."

Tucker gave Alistair a look, a look he couldn't read. Thinking he said too much, he poked at his cheese.

But the other man only smiled, "Good! We need to keep them reminded about her, lest they forget. She'd be quite angry about that, when she woke up. She may even take personal offense." Tucker's grin spread over his face to touch his eyes, as if he just told an inside joke, "And no one would like that."

Alistair tried to piece it all together, but he just nodded again, the other man stood, bowed and headed out from the kitchens. Leaving a bewildered Alistair to his thoughts and his cheese.


	11. Eleven

**Whoo! Time to finally continue!**

* * *

"Are you willing to take my offer yet?" It purred near her face, the black flames licking at her curled horns. Those twisted eyes gleaming wickedly while the smile lit her face.

She chose not to waste her breath on responding, that question was starting to irritate her. She mumbled under her breath and rubbed the back of her neck. Rolling her shoulders she pointed to the seemingly endless doors around them. The portals flickering between the twisted trees, each interlocking it's branches with another, creating arches of black tree. In the distance the Black City hovered, it seemed as close to reality as she was. A tease.

She felt weak, not 'I'm tired' weak, but 'my body is deteriorating' weak. Flexing her fingers, she felt them tingle with the familiar feeling of a sleeping limb.

The demon laughed a hideously beautiful laugh, "You won't last much longer you know, I can help you, if you help me," she hovered over to the Warden, whose back was up against one of the twisted trees. "I wish entrance to the mortal world, you wish a way out. But, perhaps I could add another... offer?"

Emily couldn't help but lift her weary head, peering up at the demon. White-blue meeting violet. She did not speak, only raising her eyebrow to allow the demon to speak further.

Pointed teeth formed a sinister smile, "You do not have the will to perform magic... I do. If you allow me to... live in your body with you, I will allow you to use my mana—"

"No." Her voice was hoarse but strong. "No. That's wrong."

Scowling, the demon hissed in anger, pushing her form away from the Warden. "You will never find where I reside, cur! You will never get out of this place!"

Laughter exploded from Emily's lips, her voice booming in the empty space. She laughed until she wheezed; the demon still hovered growling at her, her eyes the most intense shade of purple. "You? A lowly desire demon think you can keep me in here?" Dry, cracked lips formed a wicked smile, "I've killed an army of demons higher in the food chain than you, and you think you have a chance?" Her laugh lowered into a dangerous chuckle, "You don't."

"Stupid human! You will regret those words!"

A cloud of smoke exploded where the demon had been only moments before. Even though there was no air current or wind, Emily rose her hands to cover her eyes until it cleared. The smile on her face victorious, her lips felt a little moist, her arms a little less heavy, and her back straightened as she strode into the next door.

* * *

"...and when the Proving Master called her name and introduced her as a Warden all you could hear in the crowds was, 'They let children into the Wardens' and 'She looks a little small for that armour'. She was not happy, she nearly killed her first opponent in anger, because he commented on her height too. Afterwards we were having a drink in the Tavern and she slapped the ale down and stood up, nearly knocking over her chair and started yelling, 'Dwarves have NO right to call ME short!'." Alistair even rose his voice to try and match her's, but only managed to sound like a boy going through puberty.

The room filled with laughter, knee slaps, and elbow jabs. At the head of the room – and the joke – was Alistair. Sitting on his high-backed chair, the Howe insignia mostly scratched off by what looked like a very dull boot knife. Alistair's cheeks were rosy from laughter and a pint of two of ale in his system. Beside him sat Tucker, who was equally buzzed, his face nearly blue from lack of breath between gasping laughter.

"Well, we all know her, that comment was offensive to someone, and a fight broke out. She was unarmed but that didn't stop her. Know how she knocked out the first one that ran at her? She tripped! On her own laces! Spilled her ale in his eyes, blinding him and knocked them both on their arses! 'Cept he was on the bottom and hit his head on the floor and blacked out!"

The room was getting rowdier as the story of Orzammar went on. Sitting at the head of the table, Alistair could see the whole room. A twinge of envy was quickly pushed back by more alcohol as he thought of these men and women as her soldiers. These were good men, they accepted him as their commander without question, without knowing the first thing about him, all because they were ordered to. Did they know it was Queen Anora who demanded that he be here? Or did they think it was their Commander who gave the order.

_Too bad I was never that loyal_, Alistair said to himself silently._ Yeah, too bad. Could have been a bit more than 'the drunk'._ He chased the familiar feelings down with another pint.

Soon enough the laughter faded and Alistair felt out of place. Even though a few were still awake and drinking themselves comatose, he left.

Drunk and disoriented the ragged man closed his eyes as he walked through the keep. He placed his hand against the cool, rough stone of the walls, touching a tapestry every now and again. Though blinded, Alistair felt as if he knew where he was going. The cool stone felt good against his calloused hands, though unlike during the Blight it wasn't because of holding his blade, it was from fist fights and holding a tankard.

Finally, Alistair fell into the room he had been heading too. It wasn't his own, but he felt at home here. He didn't hear the mage scramble to his feet and start talking angrily at him.

The acting Commander opened his honey brown eyes as he stumbled towards the veiled bed. His feet dragging along the ground, he realized then he had no boots on, and noted it lazily before he stumbled on the carpet into the bed. He clawed his way through the curtains to see her there. In his drunken haze she looked as peaceful and pristine as she always had.

Tears came to his eyes as he blubbered out a little sob, speaking words that he couldn't really hear, of that he did not want to believe. He touched her face but he was so numb he couldn't feel how thin it was.

He felt a cool wave roll over his head as his eyes rolled up and his head fell to the pillow, his nose buried into her hair.

That night, he dreamt of her smile.

* * *

Anders was not pleased. He had been perfectly peaceful working here alone, flipping through the pages of an old tome, trying to match up letters to the Commanders strange script. All before the new acting Commander, this Templar, burst into the room without warning. Anders could smell from across the room that he was drunk, and rose to his feet quickly to try to thwart him.

"Hey, you can't be in here! You are disturbing me at my work!" Words were not working, as the drunk man stumbled nearly into the bed, his shaking hand reaching to stroke her cheek. There was so much tenderness in the stroke that it made Anders stop for a moment, just long enough to hear the man begin to cry and mummble. Part of him felt sorry for Alistair, but then his mind clicked and he turned towards the most recent painting. The one with the sorrowful man clutching his stomach in agony. It was him!

When he turned back Alistair had half-crawled into bed with her, so before he could do more than just stroke her hair, he cast a sleeping spell and watched as the Templar fell face-first into her pillows.

It hurt Anders to see this other man have so much familiarity with Emily. At one point Anders had been the same. He still remembered the first time she let him kiss her, the first time she had touched his cheek gently, the first time she had run to him after a battle to check his wounds. Had she done the same with this man? It made the mage's stomach clench.

But he could not be mad at a man with so much sadness on his face, even in sleep. So he shifted the larger Warden until he looked comfortable enough, and went back to his seat next to Emily. He sought her hand and closed it within his own. "You have the worst timing, you know?" He said with a bit of a bitter chuckle. "I had a surprise waiting for you when you returned to Denerim. Sure, it was me in my small clothes draped over your desk, but it would have still been a surprise." He chuckles softly, before he realized something was different.

Her hand was warm in his, something that hadn't been true in months. He got to his feet instantly and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. It wasn't a trick, her skin was warming slightly and he got the journal out in a snap and began to write notes. This wasn't part of the cycle, she had gone through a phase only a few days ago. So he sat there for the rest of the night, on the edge of his seat, waiting for something new to happen.


	12. Twelve

**All new content! Gearing up for some action (finally, eh?). Enjoy, please review!**

* * *

Alistair awoke in a bed that was not his own, with a headache so loud and pounding it made him want to throw up. But when he moved to roll off the bed, he found himself pressed up against another human being. "Oh Maker," he mumbled, thinking he had stumbled into bed with one of the female Wardens. He was not wrong, technically, but when his eyes finally focused on the body next to him, he cried out and rolled in the opposite direction until he was on his feet- bare feet. Where had his boots gone?

"Morning," drawled Anders from across the room. He looked tired, to say the least. Something Alistair could very much understand. "Sleep well?" He asked, almost mockingly.

He felt no need to lie. "Surprisingly, yes." He rubbed his eyes with thick hands as he stood there awkwardly. Had he really barged into her room last night and fallen asleep next to her? Heat began to rise in his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. "I didn't.. say anything awkward last night, did I?"

"No, just broke into this room, started crying, and passed out on the Commander." Something in Anders tone made Alistair think he was not particularly welcome any more.

"Oh. Sorry. I'll just. Leave." So he did just that. The moment he was out of the room he made a run for his own chambers, his bare feet slapping off the ground as he threw himself away from that room. Away from her. Once he had made it down the hall and around a few corners and behind the door of his own room he shut it and latched it. Before sliding to the floor right then and there, rubbing his temples with a groan. "Was I really that drunk?" He asked himself, and got no answer.

There was a bath already waiting for him in the corner of his room, some of the servants must have dragged a tub in while he was gone. Someone must have told them how much he had to drink. He did not complain, instead he threw off his clothing and his small-clothes and hopped into the tub. The warm water instantly soothed the ache behind his eyes, and he sunk deeper. He was already replaying the events of the morning again, something had been different about what he had woken up next to. Her flesh had been less grey and more pink, more human. He shook his head, scrubbed himself down, and decided to get on with his day.

It was a good thing too, for when he arrived at his office Varel was waiting for him, with a fresh stack of mail for them to sort through. The people who owed Amaranthine fealty were constantly asking for either help against darkspawn or their schemes for more land. Something Alistair had no care nor patience for- except the darkspawn.

"He says he say three score of them-"

"Three score?! He lies."

"Of course he does, Commander. But these minor lords feel as if you will not help them unless they use... exaggerations," Varel explained. He was actually rather patient with him, which was nice.

"Fine, fine. Let's send Oghren and his choice of 8 recruits, plus one of the garrison. Tell him to sweep Lord.. what's his face's lands, and come back down around from the west. He should stop at Amaranthine on his way back in for any supplies or fresh recruits."

Varel rose a greying eyebrow. "Do you think it is wise to send the dwarf?"

Alistair nodded after a moment. "Yes. He's good, no, great on the battlefield. And if they do not respect him, they at least fear him. Plus, sending him might make these minor lords think twice about wasting my time."

"I see, a wise decision, M'lord." The title made him cringe, but he took the compliment as it was. "Now, have you looked at the budget?"

"Yes, it seems we are missing a few hundred sovereign to finish the reconstruction on the outer gates. Would the dwarves take our word of repayment, you think? Or do they only understand gold in their hands."

"They will require the gold, for they have to buy the materials."

"Damn." Alistair sighed softly, rubbing his temples for the fifth time that hour, he swore he was going to have permanent marks on the skin from that. "And here, it says we spent- oh Maker, 300 sovereign on the garrisons wages? That is outrageous!"

"Commander Cousland can be a tad over generous at times. Shall I let the officers know that we need to cut their stipends?"

"No. No. She'll have my head for that. We will just... need to make some extra money."

"Hm, well. I have heard a strange rumour, if you are willing to hear it." This piqued Alistair's interest and he rose his eyebrow at the man. "I hear there is a nest of Dragons north and east of here, on an uncharted island just off the ocean. It is.. of course, just a rumour, but many will pay a fine price for the skin and scale of dragons, even their bones. Not to mention the alchemists who would pay dearly for just a vial of their blood."

This made Alistair sit up straight. "You think we should go on a Dragon hunt?"

Varel shook his head, "Not you. I would suggest you stay here for court, but I also suggested the same to Emily, and she would have none of it either. Of course, most of the recruits would have to stay here, along with many of the officers, but yes. Dragons could be the key to our wealth. If I have heard the stories correctly, you have already defeated a dragon or two."

A smile touched his face, returning some of the youth lost in his cups. "I like this idea."

"Would you like me to pursue this rumour?"

"Yes, and quickly."

There was a commotion happening downstairs and it woke Anders from his afternoon nap. He had stayed with Emily for longer than he had to, to explain what had happened, in detail, to Velanna. She too seemed perplexed, but dismissed him quickly enough. It was her own way of caring, he thought as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and went to pull his robe on over his head. Only to get a face full of orange tabby. Ser-Pounce-a-Lot mewled at him unhappily for being roused, but when Anders apologized, the cat seemed to stop caring, and go back to napping inside of his pockets.

He followed the noise to the feast hall, where all the Wardens, except for the Dalish one upstairs, were gathered.

"What do you mean we cannot go?" Asked an irritable Nathaniel Howe, jabbing a long finger into the face of Alistair.

"Go where?" Asked Anders, drawing the eye of every person in the room.

"Dragon hunting!" Said one of the young men who had been recruited within the last few months. "There are some dragons that need slaying up north."

"And here I thought that Grey Wardens were meant to kill darkspawn, not dragons." Quipped the mage, raising a brow at their current leader, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"I know that, I just, I mean," his eyes darted around the room, looking at each face. That was when Anders noticed that even Oghren was present, but being held back by the firm hand of the assassin crow, who had been missing for weeks. He had a bone to pick with him. "I don't even know if we will, I just thought I'd let you all know of a prospect. But, like I said before, a group of you really do need to go to the Bannorn-"

"I don't want to fight darkspawn if I can fight dragons!" Cried another new recruit, until another joined in, "Me either!"

There wasa flicker across Alistair's face, before any sign of hesitation or fear of the group was gone. "I don't care what you want. You will do as you're commanded. You are Grey Wardens, not children! You will be ready to scour the Bannorn for darkspawn in three days time, and Oghren-" he rose a hand to point at the dwarf, who looked slightly taken back, "will be leading you." Once again they all tried to speak at once, and Anders couldn't help but think about how this would never have happened were Emily still in charge. "Quiet!" Cried the Templar, slamming his foot down on the stone, his shout quieting the whole room instantly. "You leave at dawn in three days. Pack and prepare. This is no argument. You are dismissed." He turned on his heel and stomped back into the office and slammed the wooden door behind him.

All hell broke loose after that, Warden recruits and officers alike began to shout their disappointment. Frankly, it irritated the mage more than anything. Even from where he was in the back of the room he could hear Oghren speak: "He trying to get me killed? I'll slice off his-"

Zevran interrupted him, "I believe he is trying to get you to work your anger out on something more, let's say, productive."

Felsi next to him nodded, for once there was no baby in her arms. "You have been more of an ass than usual. This might be good for you..." And then he could no longer hear them speak, for Brosca, the near-silent dwarf Warden had approached him.

"Will you be coming with us?" She asked him, and for a moment Anders was confused why she would be speaking to him. Then, after a quick glance around the room, he realized it was because he was one of the only calm ones around.

"Probably not, I cannot leave the Commander. I believe we have had some progress."

"Really? Good news, I hope?" Those grey eyes of her's seemed to sparkle a little. He wondered again just how the Commander had saved her, how she had inspired them all. It made him a little sad to think about.

"I'm not sure really," he admitted to her. "But I hope so."

Brosca flashed him a quick half-smile before she waved a silent goodbye and disappeared into the crowd of Wardens. Some had given in to the orders they were given and had begun to slink away out of the room. Anders stayed to watch them all pass, and thought about exactly why this Warden would want to chase a rumour of dragons, instead of fighting the darkspawn. Could it be for glory? Or to separate himself from the Commander, he had been rather emotion the night before. It was too early to tell, but Anders made mental note to watch him more closely.

As more of the Wardens drifted away Zevran settled silently into the chair beside Anders, so silently that it wasn't until he tapped the mage's arm that he realized he was even there. "Dear Maker you scared me!" He gasped, placing a hand to his chest.

"I apologize, Anders. I saw you watching me earlier. Was there something you need?"

Anders had to smirk, the elf was quite observant, more than he let on. "Yes, actually. I have a question about Oghren and Alistair-"

"I see. I do not believe it is my story to tell-"

"I cannot let Wardens kill each other Zev. You must tell me."

The assassin gave in with a sigh. "If I must." He looked uncomfortable then, shifting in his chair a few times before he began. "Before the Blight, when we had all been companions..." He sighed, shaking his head. "I do not know where to start."

"Were Emily and Alistair lovers?" Anders found himself asking suddenly and by the shocked look that Zevran shot him, he realized he hit the nail on the head.

But Zev only sighed again, harder. "It was not so simple. But.. as you can imagine, they had a falling out. Rather, he left her in the middle of the landsmeet, you have heard of it, yes?"

"Of course. It was held to decide who the next monarch of Ferelden would be, it was where Emily conscripted Loghain."

"Yes. At the cost of him." Zevran pointed toward the office door, towards Alistair. "He did not see what that did to her, he did not have to listen to her cry for days when she thought no one was listening. We did.

"One night, back on the road, only a week since he had left us, left her, Oghren had convinced her not to retire to her tent directly after dinner. Instead, he asked her to share a drink. One drink turned into many, and the rest of us joined in, even Shale."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. But what I mean to say is... we watched how him leaving destroyed her. I had never seen her cry until that day. Oghren, as tough as he looks, was just as hurt by the betrayal." Zevran shook his head. "But I have said too much, I must return to my duties. I have many things to do."

Anders was still trying to work it out, attempting to imagine the Commander he knew broken down and crying, and failing. So by the time he turned to Zevran to ask him to explain more, he was gone.

The mage gathered himself to his feet shortly after that, and left the Keep. He needed some air.


	13. Thirteen

**Thank you for the follows! Please enjoy this next chapter!**

* * *

The night air was cold against his skin, and when he shit his eyes he could imagine he was on the run from the Circle again. He could pretend there was no taint killing him from the inside nor a hundred men behind him who were doing the same. But this refreshing breeze could not erase it all, and soon Anders found himself resting his elbows on the battlements and staring out towards the forest beyond the highway. It was only then that he saw something approaching, at first he thought it was darkspawn, but there was no familiar sensation in his gut. He narrowed his eyes, before they snapped open in realization. It was the Queen and her entourage.

Anders ran as fast as he could without tripping on the hem of his robes back into the Keep. Inside a few of the Wardens who had accepted their Commander's demands were sitting along the long tables in the hall, each and every one of them looked surprised when he burst in. "The Commander, is he still here?" Anders panted.

It was an elf, Cheryl or something, who pointed toward the office door. "Still in there," she told him, opening her mouth to ask him something else. But Anders was across the room and pounding a fist on the door.

"I gave you an order!" Alistair shouted as he threw the door open, expecting to see something other than the Mage. "What?"

"The Queen is riding to your gates, I saw her from the battlements," he explained in a rush. Over Alistair's shoulder- who was just a few inched taller than himself, he saw Varel's brows shoot up in surprise.

"I was not told she was coming for a visit."

"Nor I," noted Alistair. "Thank you Anders, I will see to her."

If Alistair thought that would get rid of the mage, he was mistaken, for Anders followed as the Commander and the seneshal quickly made their way to the gates. They all took the steps two at a time, and Anora, followed closely by two heavily armoured guards, a Templar and what was either a priest or a mage. Upon her horse she looked as regal as her title suggested. She wore a simple dress, something obviously made for riding, but it was still coloured vibrantly. Her white-blonde hair was loosened from it's usual bun to curl over her gently sloping shoulders. Perhaps she was trying to be beautiful, Anders did not know, but the venomous look she shot at Alistair took away any of it that may have been.

"Welcome, Queen Anora," intoned Varel, before Alistair could speak. As the three drew closer they all noticed the caravan that was lagging behind, and the small group of soldiers that accompanied it. "We had not received work of your visit."

"Thank you for the welcome, Seneshal Varel, but I did not send word of my coming. I wished to see the state of Vigils Keep." Her voice was tight and high, much like the way she held her head. Anders did not like it. "I see you are still repairing," she said after a moment, before Varel rushed forward to held her dismount her steed. The knights she brought with her dismounted quickly after she did, and took hold of her reins and without bein given permission or leave, began to lead the steeds away.

Only then did Anders notice the look on Alistair's face. It was a mix of anger, suspicion and disdain. It seemed the mage was not the only one to dislike their Queen. However the former Templar, as he had learned recently, stepped forward gracefully to take her slightly outstretched hand. He fell to a knee, not seeming to care that he got mud on his leather breeches, to kiss her fingers. It was more than chaste, he kissed her hand as if it were poisoned. "Welcome to Vigils Keep then, my Queen."

Her smile was like a snake's and it made his skin crawl. "I know this is short warning, Wardens, but my men and I require rooms, food and drink. 'Twas a long ride from Denerim."

"Of course," Varel stepped in quickly, before Alistair could say something he might have regretted. "If you will follow me, My Queen, I will show you to suitable quarters-"

"Rendon Howe's former quarters will do."

"You cannot," Anders said before Varel could. "Lady Cousland is resting there-"

"Still? I thought she would be dead by now," Anora said casually, as if discussing the state of a dog. Anders felt a rush of anger. "Well then, I will take whatever else you think is suitable."

"Of course," Varel said after a small hesitation. Taking her gently by the hand to lead her towards the Keep.

For a moment Anders thought that Alistair would follow, but he did not. This was the first time he noticed that the handful of Wardens who had been in the great hall had followed them to the courtyard.

Alistair seemed to stunned too speak, so it was up to Anders to give orders. "Help the soldiers find space in the barracks, and made sure the stables are ready to receive all their horses." The Wardens paused, before taking off to do as they were told.

His brows knotted as he watched the former Templar, Emily's former lover. His face was a mask for the most part, except his eyes. Anger was in those golden orbs, so much of it that Anders took a small step back. Alistair spoke not a word, before he spun on his heel toward the practice yard. Anders waited for a moment, before taking off to follow.

Alistair stomped heavily through the yard until he reached the practice ring. In the ring were four straw-filled dummies, they had been dressed in old leather armour that was falling apart, but this did not seem to bother the man. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves that hung over a rack of training swords, these swords were blunted so that the trainees could not inflict too much damage on each other. This did not seem to deter Alistair, who merely grabbed the closest one and began to swing at the dummies. He was stronger than Anders had realized, for he shattered the practice sword with his third strike on the dummy. He just threw the ruined blade down and reached for the next and began to wail on the straw dummies. He swung forward, backward, diagonal and side to side, he struck them high, low and even threw a punch at one. Anders just watched him exercise his anger on them, before the man dropped his now bend wooden sword and stumbled back. He turned and stopped, his gold eyes going wide when he met Anders'.

"Oh."

"Hello," Anders said, trying to ease the tension in the air. "Pretending those are some darkspawn?" He gestured at the dummies, now even more decrepit looking.

Alistair muttered something under his breath that Anders could not quite hear, before clearing his throat. "I'll be going. It's quite late, should you not be with the Commander?" He left quickly, not even waiting to get an answer. Leaving Anders awkward and alone in by the ring.

With a sigh, the mage decided he was right. When returning to the Keep he was careful to avoid the new soldiers, who had now taken over the great hall. The Wardens had come up to see what was happening, but stayed away from the Queen's men. For good reason, they were loud and jostling, greedily eating the food that the servants brought out. Some of them even attempted to jostle some of the younger women, who slapped their hands away before escaping out of sight. It made Anders feel slightly sick to see, but men would be men, he supposed.

Upon reaching the master bedroom he was greeted by an even more irritable Velanna. "Do all humans take as much time as you? You are late."

"Nice to see you too," he sighed, before she slipped from the room and slammed the door behind her. Anders only sighed and took his usual seat by the window. "Things are going to hell," he told her sleeping form. "You need to hurry up and wake up now. Any time now would be great."

* * *

The air was thick and heavy like smoke, but clear. In an instant he knew where he was: the Fade. He visited most every night, but tonight felt different. For one he was in a part of the Fade he did not recognize, other than the floating city in the distance that was visable from anywhere. He gathered himself to his feet and stretched his hands above his head, before letting out a sigh. If he was this aware of his dreams it only meant he was about to have a nightmare. Or so Anders assumed.

But instead of the usual monsters that visited him in these dreams it was just a glowing form. If he squinted he could almost make out the shape of a man, or armour, he couldn't really tell. It seemed familiar, and friendly. But when Anders tried to speak to it, it shook then disappeared in a small ball of light. Leaving Anders all alone.

He wandered the Fade aimlessly for a while, his feet taking him up hills and down valleys. Where bookcases were flipped on their sides, or desks hung from the open sky. The Fade was strange like that, it brought forth pieces of your memory and twisted them. It had always unnerved Anders, but tonight, although he felt alone, he felt safe.

Then he saw what must have once been a gazebo.. and the image of a painting flashed before his eyes. He knew this place! "Hello?" He called out.

"..hello?" Replied a voice, soft and very far away. It was coming from his left, so he ran to it, until he encountered a high cliff. He got as close to the edge as he could and peered over. Below him, sitting in a seemingly unreachable valley was a woman. Other than a plain white tunic she was bare, but she had long orange hair that curled over her shoulders to her waist. He watched as a smile bloomed over her face. "Anders!?"

He could not believe his eyes. "Emily?! Wait there! I'm coming for you!" He called down. He darted to his feet to look for a way down, but could see none. He saw the smile fade off of her face, and she shook her head at him. She seemed to be trying to speak, but she could not hear her words. Then, without warning, she was simply gone.

* * *

Anders woke with a start. The journal under his face left red lines across his cheek and jaw. He quickly wiped the page dry before spinning to where Emily lay. Unmoved, he noted. Pressing fingers to his temples he shut his eyes as he recalled the dream. She had looked healthy enough down in the chasm, but she was unreachable. Perhaps it was a clue. He did not know.

He quickly decided not to share the dream with anyone. Sun was pouring in through the window now, bathing him in warmth and light. It felt like a sign, the morning being as beautiful as it was. Velanna arrived minutes later to dismiss him and he was thankful for it. He had much to think on.


	14. Fourteen

**Chapter 14! If you can't tell, I HATE Anora, lol. Enjoy.**

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His head rested in his hands as he tried to think about anything but strangling the woman in the other room. He could hear her speaking with Varel about the Keep and Amaranthine with that high, fake voice. He wanted to strike out and break something, but showing that much emotion around Anora could prove most dangerous. So instead he groaned and pressed his fingers to his temples, wishing he could just block her out.

I have no time for this! Alistair thought suddenly as he moved around the papers on his desk, fingers only hesitating on the rose-bound book for a moment before he shoved it into his desk. I have things to plan! Most of my Wardens leave to protect her Bannorn in only a few hours and I haven't even gotten their orders done. Not to mention this ... Dragon hunt I need to plan! He rubbed his eyes until it hurt, then dropped his head heavily against the desk.

"Sleepin' on the job, eh?" Grunted a voice at the door. Alistair's head shot up quickly at Oghren's voice and inwardly rose his defences in case the dwarf decided to attack again. "Get yer' knickers out of that knot, I'm not going to rid yer' head off. Even though you deserve nothing less." Oghren was not yet in his armour, but instead wearing beige leather breeches and a white tunic that fell past his knees.

"Well that's a relief," Alistair admitted as he tried to relax. It was difficult though, he knew that Oghren could kill a man without a weapon, he had heard the stories in Orzammar. "What can I do for you?"

"You can tell me why you're sending me away."

"Ah. That. Well you see, the men respect you. Or at least fear you." Oghren sent him a glare and he rose his hands defensively. "No offence, sorry. I just mean that they've already fought with you and, well, they're more likely to actually follow your orders. Not to mention the scare you might give the Lords of the Bannorn."

The dwarf rose a bushy brow, "You want me to rough up some lords? All right!" The smile under his beard grew wide as Alistair rose his hands quickly, and shook his head.

"No! No, that would be bad. I just want you to... yell a lot, scare them badly enough not to think about wasting our time again-"

"What'chu mean?"

It seemed to Alistair that this might be what brought them peace, and on the inside he was glad for it. Sure, what he remembered of the dwarf from camp was that he was a load drunk who more than once asked Emily to 'ride him like a bronto'. But on the battlefield he was a monster, his battle-cry even made Alistair's knees feel a little weak at times. It made him glad he was on their side.

"These lords and ladies have been sending letters claiming that hundreds of thousands of darkspawn are on their fields, but that is just unrealistic. We would have another Blight on our hands, and I haven't felt anything like an Archdemon." Of course Oghren looked confused, but stood there silently, waiting for him to continue. "No ones told you? During a Blight, we can feel the Archdemon, sometimes even hear him in our dreams. That is how we know if it is truly a Blight, and not just a raiding party, if you will."

This made Oghren stop and stroke one of his beard braids. "So you had some nightmares and knew it was a Blight? Huh. Explains a lot." If Oghren was going to explain himself, he would have, but he did not. Alistair didn't press him to. "We leaving today?"

"In a few hours, seeing that the Queen is here now, well. That throws a stick in the plans, but it won't stop us. Have you decided who you want to take with you?"

"Aye. I'll be taking that Sigrun and Brosca for sure," he gave Alistair a leering grin, which made him wonder what Felsi thought of that. "Nate said he wanted to come, which made sense. I also convinced some junior Wardens too: Garren, Mathis, Harlan, Stevan and Lami." Oghren laughed suddenly, shaking his big head. "You don't even know who those are, do you?"

Alistair smiled and shook his own head. "Not in the least."

"Ha! Alright. Garren is that big dark-skinned human, Mathis is another elf, Harlan is another human from the Circle of Magi. Steven and Lami are elves from Denerim, brother and sister I hear. The creepy ones with the white hair."

"Oh yes, I've seen them," Alistair bluffed. He had no idea who any of these people were. He turned to his notes for a moment to quickly jot down the names. "Is that it?"

Oghren hummed for a moment, "Nah. I'll take along a dozen of the regular garrison. You know, show them how it's done. Heh." He grinned widely.

"Good, good," he announced into his papers, setting down his quill. "That should more than suffice. Nine Wardens and a dozen regular soldiers. That should be enough to take down these darkspawn straglers. When do you think you can be ready for?"

"You want us out of here in a few hours? Consider it done," The dwarf was almost beaming now. "Should we wait for a royal goodbye?"

"I wouldn't hold my breath."

He laughed lowly. "Thought so."

"I've already told the kitchens to prepare your rations and the servants to saddle horses, though I may have told them too many.. Take the extra horses any ways. Less you each have to carry."

Oghren nodded and slapped his across his chest and bowed slightly. Alistair returned the salute after a moment of hesitation, then the dwarf was gone to prepare.

He figured now he would have timeto get some work done on his dragon hunt, but Varel popped his head into the office a short while later. Alistair had begun to write out the names of the equipment he would need, and the amount of people, but had not gotten very far by then.

"M'Lord, the Queen would like an audience with you."

"Can she not see I'm a little busy?" He asked, irritation in his tone as he set his quill down roughly. "It's not like I'm running a Arling and the Ferelden Grey Wardens or anything."

Varel shot him a half smile, "I cannot speak for the Queen. Shall I send her in?"

Alistair nodded sadly and began to tidy up the papers on his desk. By tidying he threw all the papers into a pile and stuffed them into the corner. Just in time, too. For Anora let herself into the room moments later. Remembering his role, Alistair got to his feet and offered her the same salute that Oghren had. She waved him down instead of returning the gesture.

"I see you have been busy," she said before he could speak. She did not take a seat, but instead walked around the office and looked at the paintings. Most were men that Alistair did not know, the only female face in the room was the one of Sophia Dryden, which was set up directly across from his desk. Her face in particular gave him the creeps, but he did not dare move it. "Sending your Wardens out to fight in the Bannorn and planning some sort of secret mission. Your Seneshal has refused to give me any information on that, but you will."

"Will I?" He asked before he could stop himself.

Anora spun on him, her green eyes flashing with anger. She smoothed the front of her dress quickly though, and forced the anger down. "Yes. You will," her tone was threatening and Alistair began to wonder why exactly she wanted him in this position. "You will tell me, and you will do it quickly." She left no room for argument and stared him directly in the eyes.

It made him uneasy, and he shifted in his chair a few times. "Well, you see. The Keep requires more money for it's repairs," he began, thinking desperately of ways to avoid telling her. He did not trust her. "I am looking for ways to make some. It's really quite boring.." her eyes bore right into his face and did not let up. He swallowed roughly. "Okay. Well, we have heard rumours of..." he did not want to say dragons. Anything but dragons. "Broodmothers!" He nearly shouted as the idea and words came to him at the same time. "Yes, broodmothers. Ugly things, lots of nipples. Any ways, I and some of the other Wardens will go to dispatch them."

"How do you expect this to get you money?"

Damn, a problem with his plan. "Well you see, they are under some farm lands up North, and the farmers there would likely pay dearly for the removal of these horrors. They can't be good for the livestock." He almost wanted to tell her what they really were, Hespith's voice crawling into his ears and making him shiver. "But if the people knew about them it would cause panic, lots of it, so I thought to keep it quiet."

Tension in the Queen's shoulders seemed to loosen and she smiled at him. "I see. That is acceptable then. You said that you will be going?" There was an odd excitement in her voice when she asked, but Alistair chocked it up to her just being evil.

"I plan to, yes."

"Then I will remain here in your absence."

He nearly choked on his next breath. "What? No! I mean, you have a whole kingdom to rule-"

"Which I can do from here. Court will wait for my return." She smirked at him, victoriously.

Alistair was still shaking his head though. "I have already put a Warden in charge of Amaranthine and the Keep for my absence, it would be unnecessary." He could hear just the slightest bit of desperation in his own voice. "Not to mention the repercussions back in Denerim. And the strain on the Wardens.. No. I apologize Anora-"

"Queen Anora."

"Queen Anora," he repeated tightly. "But it would be unfair to my Wardens and put unneeded financial strain on my Keep."

Her face began to go red. "Are you refusing me?" She asked angrily. "Do not forget who put you in this position-"

He was on his feet before he knew why, his hands slamming down against his desk. "I will not forget that, but the Grey Wardens owe no fealty to any kingdom. This is not up for discussion. You have been allowed to stay at my command for niceties, no more." He slammed his hands down a second time. "You are not welcome to stay in my absence. Now please, I have work to do. Varel will attend to anything else you need."

The Queen's face was twisted in rage. She leaned across his desk to jab a finger to his chest. "You will regret those words, bastard." She spun on her heels and stomped out of the word.

He thought he would feel good for such a victory over the Queen. But he had a feeling she would keep to her promise and that made his gut clench uncomfortably.

"My, my," sang Zevran from the darkness, making Alistair reach for a sword he no longer carried. "I did not expect that."

"Maker you frightened me," Alistair admitted as he slumped into his chair.

Zevran dropped from one of the rafters onto the stone floor silently, his boots not making even a whisper. "Tsk, tsk Alistair. I'd say you are becoming docile if I frighten you."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, yes I do. Now I must ask, why did you lie to your Queen?" He slinked up into the chair across from Alistair, plucking the first piece of paper from the desk to scan. "That seems a very.. unpatriotic thing to do."

He snatched the paper back quickly and placed it back on top of the pile. "I don't trust her. And why would I? She has brought me nothing but trouble."

Zevran nodded and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Understandable. But do you not fear one of your men will speak about the dragons?"

"I.. hadn't thought about that."

He chuckled, "do not worry. I have already given orders to your Wardens forbidding them to speak about it until the Queen leaves. Of course I told them you gave the order, but you cannot blame me."

Alistair actually chuckled. "Thank you Zev. That was very good thinking."

"Oh I try. I do not wish for your beheading so soon after I have retrieved you, all that work would have been for nought. But who, may I ask, are you leaving in charge?"

"Risel Tucker, if he will take it."

"You do not wish to bring him with you?" Zevran seemed honestly surprised.

"No. I was actually going to ask you to join me. I even sent a letter to Wynne asking her to come as well, and to bring Shale if she is still with her. As much faith as Emily has put in these Wardens I still do not know if I can trust them, or if they trust me." He admitted with a soft sigh, before shifting through the stack of papers to produce one with a mess of writing along it. "These are the names of the people who had been whispering of Dragons in the North. I need you to track them down and get all the information you can from them. Follow any lead they give you, and return to me. Uh, if you're willing of course."

Zevran smiled and got to his feet. He offered Alistair and long bow and a grin, "I would be honoured." He took the offered list from Alistair and tucked it away into one of his many hidden pockets. "Wynne is in Amaranthine now, I saw her there only a few weeks ago and she did not look to have elsewhere to go. I will bring her back with me, if you like."

"Perfect-"

"But we will not be enough to take down a nest of broodmothers," he slyly winked at Alistair. "I suggest taking a few more Wardens with us, or even just some of the regular soldiers. Oghren is taking nine Wardens and a dozen armed soldiers, leaving you with twenty-six Wardens; three of which would be considered officers, ten junior members, and another thirteen fresh recruits and another six dozen soldiers."

Alistair was taken back by the count, but he should not have been surprised. Zevran tended to be observant like that. "I will think on it."

"Good enough for me," Zev smirked. "It shall be like old times then, yes? I look forward to it. I will take a horse and leave for Amaranthine within the hour."

"Zevran," he called as the assasin went to leave. "Thank you. I meant it, truly."

"You are most welcome, my friend." He bowed to Alistair with a smirk and left.

For once in a very long time Alistair felt good about his plans, and his future. So long as he did not think about the woman laying near-comatose a floor above. He shut his eyes and allowed the good feeling to take over and put a smile on his face. Doing something more than just drinking away his pain felt good, more than good, great.

"Commander?" Called Tucker from the door. "The Wardens are ready to leave, with your word."

"That was quick. I'll be out in a moment."

Yes, things were going to be great.


	15. Fifteen

**I'm really tired, so sorry if this chapter comes out kinda.. poopy. I'm just trying to move some things along!**

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With a roar the blade hacked it's way through the demon's side, fire and blood spurted out to cover her. The demon writhed in agony as it tried to slink away into the ground, it's firey eyes wisps. "Not today!" Emily cried as she brought the blade back down for a second time, easily pinning it to the ground of the Fade just as it's life seeped from it, leaving no more than a scorched mark on the mud to show for its existence.

They were coming in force now,their bodies jostling as they all worked to get closer to the cornered woman, but that would not stop her now. Rage and desire battled against each other to move in on her, their limbs being hacked off if they drew too close, or their bodies beaten back with the flat of her great-sword. Exhaustion was starting to set into her bones, she knew even as she threw herself at the nearest demon, slicing and jabbing artfully until it was hissing and trying to flee. That would not do, so she lunged at the beast and impaled it cleanly.

There was a shimmer to her right, where the demon had been dispatched. "You are outnumbered," it said, impassively.

"No shit," she half-laughed as she dodged wicked claws. Emily readied her blade for the onslaught, twisting her grip and channeling every bit of anger and fear inside of her, letting it loose in a wild roar that stunned the first row of them. The shimmer merely watched as she dipped in and out, down and around the demons, her blade never stopping and her eyes always flickering to the next target. A heavy boot slammed up into the chest of a desire demon and threw it yards away into one of the twisted trees, freeing her up to break the line and decapitate the next demon. Then flee.

It was the only way she would survive, and she knew it. So with a clean slice across the back of the rage demon's head she spun her body toward the black and purple portal. With three great leaps she had reached it, and with just a step more, she was falling back into another part of the Fade.

Emily landed heavily, without her arms or armour. Instantly she missed them, for the demoness of the land who had tormented her was just there in front of her. Or at least, her image.

"Not as good as you think you are," the demon teased from her perch. Her wide smile exposing sharpened teeth. Though the smile lasted only a moment longer, before something else came through the portal behind her. It hit the ground with such force that Emily actually felt it tremble, then it spread itself wide and a burst of light exploded from it's centre.

When she was able to open her eyes again a familiar form stood before her. "Justice!" She cried happily, scrambling to her feet.

The spirit was unchanged since the last time she had seen it in the Fade. It was still heavily armoured and filled with self-righteous energies. Had it a face, she was sure it would be smiling. "Warden Commander. I thought I had felt you here."

She brushed back some of her orange curls and chuckled, "I have been here for far too long." Emily had no idea how long she had been in the Fade. For her it already felt like an eternity, but she knew time flowed differently there. It could be nothing more than an afternoon nap, or it could be months, she had no way of telling unless she was able to speak with Anders again. Though she hadn't seen him since that time on the ledge.

"Why are you here?" The spirit asked.

"I'm stuck. The last thing I remember was being invited for dinner by one of Anora's advisers, the next thing I know I was here." It was obvious by the scrunch of her nose she had to think hard about the details, but she was clinging to them desperately.

"I see. That is... not good." The spirit crossed his arms behind his back and began to pace noiselessly. "I have seen other dreamers but not in this realm. What are you hoping to accomplish?"

"I need to kill the demon here, then I will be free to leave. I think." Her voice betrayed her, and Justice turned to her with what she could only describe as confusion in his eyes. "That is what I had to do when I was under the control of the demon Sloth," she informed him after a moment, and the spirit nodded slightly.

The spirit's form shifted, disappearing from her voice only to reappear to her left a few yards off. "I have located the demon," he informed her then, and Emily's eyes went wide.

"Just like that?!" she shouted, alarmed.

The spirit gave her a single nod. "You cannot reach her. The magic she is using is quite powerful. I could not get close either. This is no simple desire."

Emily's face fell and she sighed. "So I should just give up?"

"No. I will find.. outside assistance."

Then he was gone. The woman spun around on her heel, looking everywhere for the spirit, even resorting to calling his name. She received no answer.

Strange formations in the sky drew her down to the ground as she began to give up. If she could have, she would have cried. Instead, she merely lay there on the ground, which was not hot, nor cold. She felt numb as she stared up into the sky, the perpetual night. It was driving her mad, the circles, the chases, the never-ending game. Emily wanted nothing more than to lay down, give up, and sleep forever.

Two weeks had passed since the Wardens had left for the Bannorn. It had only been six days since Queen Anora and her people took their own leave, once the Wardens and their Commander made it perfectly clear they were not welcome. Anders had to give Alistair props for that one, but now the Keep felt cold and empty. The remaining Wardens were mostly fresh recruits, like, straight off their Joining and still reeling at the fact they drank the blood of darkspawn. They would grow into the role eventually, he knew, but for the time he felt like he was surrounded by children.

Today was to be an interesting day though. Word had arrived from Zevran that he was returning today, along with a few friends. Only Alistair seemed to know what he meant, but he kept most to himself. Not that Anders minded, since finding out about the past between him and Emily, Anders wanted nothing to do with him. He was polite, maybe even friendly, but Anders was jealous. Of course, he had come after Alistair, so it should have been the other way around.

Once again the mage had decided to visit the top of the keep for fresh air, accompanied by Tucker. Neither said anything for a while, but it was good to have familiar company.

"So I hear you will be acting Commander while Alistair is gone," Anders said to break the silence. The afternoon sun was reaching it's peak now, and it's glow was warming his skin nicely. "Excited? You get to boss around all the new recruits, make them wash your boots, among other things."

Like usual, Tucker laughed. "Oh very excited. I think I'll scare the new ones, be the bad guy for a while. Maybe make one piss himself, it would be a good time."

Anders joined him in laughter. "I am not cleaning that," he reminded him.

"Damn, there goes plan two. No matter, you will have to do it, I'll be Acting Commander."

"You can kiss my ass-" Anders began before he heard the first sound of approaching people: horses.

"They've returned." Risel beat him to it. "I'll send word to Alistair and the stable boys."

"I'll just watch from here," shrugged Anders, settling himself onto the wall.

Risel did just as he said, and quickly disappeared from sight. Leaving Anders alone on the walls. From here he could see the people approaching; two horses and a... He had to check twice. A golem? A big one at that, who was running beside the horses like it was nothing, while the horses seemed hell-bent on getting away from the massive creature. Blue and purple gems were wedged into cracks along it's body, and tiny runes were carved into it's... flesh, he supposed. The man on the first horse was Zevran, his leathers were unremarkable, but his hair and face seemed to be glowing. He had the widest smile on his face, only rivalled by the one on the face of the woman following him. Anders did not know this woman, but by the gnarled black staff on her back, and the knee-length robes, she was a mage. Her skin was weathered and pale, but she had bright blue eyes that he could make out even from his distance. And her white hair was pulled tightly back into a tail that hung to her shoulders. Then it struck him, he did know this woman! It was Wynne! An enchanter from his days in the Circle, and one of the many companions of Emily's.

He thought about racing down there to meet them, was even readying himself for it, when a small elf girl came flying around the corner. "Ser Anders!" She called as she scrambled to a stop. "Valenna is calling for you! Something is happening to the Commander!"

Any thoughts of reacquainting with Wynne were pushed aside as he followed the girl to Emily's chambers.

"Alistair! My dear! You are looking nearly as old as I," Wynne teased as she approached him.

He could not hide his smile at seeing the old mage. He half thought she would be dead before the Blight was over, though he was glad he was wrong. Approaching her quickly he stooped down to hug her, and she returned the hug with more strength than he would have imagined she'd have. "I'm glad to see you're still alive," he said as he let her go.

"I am not ready to die yet," she announced.

"I see it does not wish to greet me," the golem intoned, looking.. bored.

"What? No. Never, it is good to see you Shale-"

"Spare me," the she-golem interrupted.

"Forgive her, Alistair. It has been a long trip and there were many pigeons on the road."

"Foul creatures," Shale spat indignatly.

Zevran was laughing as he came back to them. "At least none relieved themself on you this time." The only reply was a grunt.

Alistair quickly began to usher them inside. "This is pretty urgent, I have Queen Anora breathing down my neck and drwafs I need to pay. I'd like to get this started as quickly as possible."

"Of course," Wynne said gently, patting his arm. "But first, I must see to Emily." She ignored the pain on Alistair's face. "Then, I need a meal. Zevran pushed us hard to get here."

"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. I'll send word to the kitchens, while you do your.. thing." Alistair hid his pain with a fake smile, and patted Zevran on the shoulder. "You two should go with her, I will get everything prepared and organized."

"Fine," said Shale.

"I will," was Zevran's response.

hurriedly, he made his way to the kitchens to inform the staff, while the other three moved up the stairs towards her bedroom. He had no desire to dwell on it. Since the formulation of his plan he had been able to focus on it and not think about Emily. About her betrayal, or about his. It made it easier for him to stay away from the large wine cellars only two or three floors down, he had made himself promise not to visit them. Now, with this adventure looming overhead he had even more reason not to drink, or to wallow.

With the kitchen's informed, he went to his office and began to collect his papers. It was a collection of maps, lists and jotted information. Zevran would have more to offer now though, but Varel had already done a good job in locating the area that the rumours seemed to all be talking about. He had already gone and hired a ship on Alistair's behalf. Now they just needed to get north, across the Waking Sea to the isle, and slay some dragons.

Easy, right?


	16. Sixteen

**Enjoy! **

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"Brandel's Reach?" asked Wynne as she nursed a freshly poured tea.

The assassin shook his head, "No, not quiet. The map you have here does not have the island. But my sources say that the dragons live here." He pointed directly between the Reach and another small island, off the coast of Ferelden, just below the Free Marches. "We will be able to get there by boat from Amaranthine, I imagine this is already prepared?"

"Yes," Varel nodded, reaching out to put a finger on the ports. "You will depart from here, and travel for a week by sea, if the weather is good. The Captain thinks it should be, but estimated that it would take an additional week is the weather acts up. The water there is treacherous, being so close to land on both sides. Often there are hidden shelves in these types of waters, which can damage the hull badly."

That made Alistair's gut clench. Already the idea of boarding a boat and travelling that long by sea made him feel ill. He had only ever been aboard a boat once on his escape from Ferelden the first time, but that had been only a three day journey. One he spent so drunk he did not even know where he was going. When he had arrived in Orlais he had taken it as it was, and just continued on. But that was behind him now, he frowned at the map, he had other things to take care of. "The Captain assured us he knew what he was doing." Alistair added as the table fell into uneasy silence. Shale stood at the door, she wanted no part of the planning. He had no idea why she was so surly, though he imagined it had something to do with her not having a flesh body like she wanted. Zevran and Wynne were nursing drinks, while he could not find it within himself to eat or drink, nor had he in two days. Varel was the only one who looked impassive, but that was just Varel.

"Are you sure you wish to do this, Alistair?" Wynne asked from across from him, she looked up at him with those big blue eyes and he had to wonder what she thought of him. Did she hate him for running away too? "You have not been Commander for long here, it seems as if you're putting yourself in unneeded risk."

"We need a source of income," Varel stated before Alistair could. Good, he was better at it, and Alistair did not wish to defend that he was not trying to get himself killed. "We already tax the Bannorn as best we can without being unreasonable, and the farmers, and even the households in Amaranthine, but still it is not enough to set-off the costs of rebuilding. We have depleted any other source we have: mining in the deep roads under the Keep and selling services to the people of the Bannorn. However, the Commander thinks we can make a heafty profit from the scales and bones of these dragons."

Thudding footsteps marked the golems approach, "it wants to kill dragons for money?" Her tone was scolding, if anything. Wynne's face matched it with concern.

He rubbed his face with a sigh, "Yes and no. I mean, it cannot be safe for the people on that coast to have Dragons so close by, and then we do make money from it. If you have any better ideas?"

The room stayed silent.

"Thought so. Will you all be ready to leave at dawn?" When no-one answered him right away he rose his head to see Wynne shooting him a sad look, the kind that made insides twist and mouths go dry, the ones that made him feel she would scold him.

"We shall," The golem finally spoke, cracking her stone fingers together.

"Yes, I will be ready for then," the old mage finally conceded. But when Alistair rose to leave, she snaked a hand out to grab his wrist, she had a strong grip, for a woman so old. "I need a word with you."

Nodding, he pointed her towards his office. The others cleared the great hall quickly to prepare what they needed. Though Alistair imagined all that Zev needed was to find someone to spend the night with.

The door shut with a small thud, and Wynne was already flitting about the room. Looking in papers and drawers, her face impassive until she caught him looking at her. "You are broken," she informed him without hesitation. "I can see it. You look as broken as you did at the Landsmeet-"

"I do not want to talk about that."

"Well I don't care if you want to, Alistair. You will sit down, and you will listen." And he did. "I... I do not know what has run through your mind for the past year and some, but I do hope you realize what you have caused. Did Emily ever tell you of her plan for the Landsmeet?"

"No, but why would I-"

Wynne gave him a hard glare and he fell silent. "She was planning on making you King." This wasn't news to Alistair, he remembered the days leading up to the Landsmeet. Too clearly, almost. They had been laying together, as they were like to do, in the Denerim home of Eamon. That was when she had begun to press him on his blood-line, his Therin bloodline. Of course, she asked what he wanted, first, but as the night grew on and she had him... Alistair flushed at that part of the memories. It had been a very long night. In the end, she asked him to think about it, before giving him just the sweetest of kisses and rolling away to get sleep. Now that he thought about it, he never really knew what went through her head. This was when Alistair realized he hadn't been listening to Wynne speak, but perked up in time to hear: "and ask to be your Queen."

"Wait! What?!" His voice cracked, his mouth felt dry and his stomach was clenching painfully. She wanted.. to be his Queen? No, he heard it wrong. He must have.

"You were to be King, and she was to announce that she would be your Queen. By conscripting Loghain that meant you two could shirk your Warden duties, after the Blight, of course and rule the Kingdom. But you left. So she was forced to crown Anora." Her voice softened by the time she finished speaking to the bewildered Alistair.

She had often told him that she loved him, any time she did not take him on a task, or every morning when they awoke, every night before they slept. He had returned the favour, but he had not thought... no, Alistair realized then as his heart sank and his mind turned to the dying woman upstairs. He hadn't thought clearly.

"Why wouldn't she have told me?" He asked in a small, tight voice.

The old mage's smile was warm, but sad as she moved to him and placed a gentle arm on his shoulder. "I imagine she wanted to surprise you. If she had told you in private she wanted your hand in marriage, it would not have been so... dramatic." She patted his arm, "But you will have to ask her when she wakes."

"You still think she will?"

Wynne's smile faltered. "I know she will. I have asked the spirit inside of me, the one keeping me going, to look for her. At least I've tried, I am not sure if it can understand me. But I just know in my heart she will awaken."

Hope, and a joy he hadn't felt in over a year, filled his being. His mind was still reeling at the fact that she had wanted to be his wife, would she still want that? Alistair did not know. He thanked Wynne warmly before she left to prepare. Leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Vigils Keep was a large enough place, it had rooms enough for everyone and more, built in barracks and even had two armouries. The first was open to the new recruits and the regular soldiers, while the second was off-limits to most. Inside it was all the artefacts and armours and arms Emily had collected throughout the Blight. Alistair had only visited this room once before, on the first walk through he had been given of the castle. He had only peeked his head in, but this time, he was doing a full search.

There were chests upon chests of poultices and poisons, racks of daggers he vaguely remembered the names of, stands of ancient armours. As he searched the room, his eye caught on small piece of paper secured on to the top of a chest. He approached it slowly, and plucked the paper up to be astonished when he read it. Alistair. His name. The chest it had been on was huge and decorated finely, like many of the others, but had the seal of the Grey Wardens embedded in it's top. Letting the paper fall, he knelt to open it. The latches came loose easily but he was afraid of what he might find inside. Stealing himself, he threw the top open and peered inside.

There lay Cailan's helm, breastplate, greaves and all. He slowly pulled them from the box and placed them onto the ground gently, piece by piece. It was gloriously carved Dragonbone, with inlaid gold and silverite, with the depiction of a dragon on the breast. The helm had a great white plume that was soft as silk to the touch. The armour was malleable in his hands, meant to fit anyone who dared put it on. But the chest was not yet empty. Under the breastplate was a shield, also Cailan's, made of the same materials, with a similar dragon's head protruding from it. Further into the chest was a blade wrapped in cloth. The hilt was all he could make out as he pulled it from the chest. It's grip was leather that had been soaked in red wine to give it a red tint, the sides were dragon claws, and the head was.. well a head. The blade itself was breathtakingly beautiful, inscripted with runes of lightening and fire. Alistair checked the chest again for any more pieces, but all there was was a note at the bottom.

He hesitated to take it, sweat gathering on his brow as he watched it. He could already tell it was written by her hand, like the tag that had been on the chest. With a breath he readied himself and pulled it from the chest. Only he couldn't open it. He traced the curve of his own name with a finger, but could not open it.

Tucking it away without another thought he got to his feet and stared down at the beautiful armour she had left him. It had been a long time since he last buckled himself into anything but it didn't stop him now. Meticulously he began to armour himself, tightening the straps and buckles. But when he was finally there, he felt.. right. Whole again. He slipped the helm on and took hold of his new shield and sword and gave them a few practice swings. By the end of it, he was sweating off any fear of the coming battles. Armed in this, he felt unstoppable.

"Emily?"

"Go away demon, you won't trick me." She sang with her eyes shut, still determined to lie there on the floor of the fade and die.

"I swear, I am no trick," replied Anders, who knelt to touch her cheek.

Bright blue eyes snapped open to regard the mage above, who looked nothing if not concerned. "How did you get here?"

Anders stood again and pointed towards the Spirit. "Justice led me here. I am dreaming I suppose. I am glad to see you."

She was on her feet in but a moment, her arms looping around his neck to crush him against her body. Anders instantly embraced her back, sticking his nose into her neck and hair and breathing deeply. Sure, he could not really smell or feel her, but it was still nice. She gripped him tighter as he moved to back away. "Are you alright?" He asked, concern evident in his tone.

"I will be. How.. how long have I been in here?" Emily finally let him go, but stayed close. Her hands seeking his. Anders tried not to think about it, or about Alistair, her previous lover who was only a floor or so away from his physical body.

He swallowed hard and avoided her eyes. "Half a year, give or take."

Her gasp was horror stricken. "So I'm dead?"

"No! Not at all.. well, no. We have been preserving your body magically-"

"You do not have time for this, mage. The demoness will sense you soon." Justice intoned from his spot behind them. Emily had forgotten he was there, and thought of hugging him as well, but figured it would go unappreciated.

Bending low, Anders kissed her without warning. In his mind, he could imagine that her lips were soft and warm and inviting, even if she did kiss him back, the Fade was too hollow for such detail. "You live. I will find a way to kill the demon of this realm, just not tonight. I will return whenever I am able. Justice says he too, will help find and kill the demon. Do not worry." She looked so peaceful when she shut her eyes and leaned into his hand. "I promise I will save you."

She kissed him again and Anders wished he could really feel it. A moment later the world around them began to hiss and scream and twist. "She is coming!" Emily cried.

He awoke in his bed, naked and sweating and longing for her body to be warm next to his. Anders groaned into his pillow before rolling out from the covers, it was time to carry on with his day, one way or another. There was a warmth inside of him though, where he had let Justice reside.


	17. Seventeen

**Whop whop!**

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"Please! Please don't kill my Conner!" Isolde begged, clasping Emily's hands tightly in her own. She was thin and ragged, but still a beautiful woman, her brown trusses tightly pulled up into a bun, her long face worn from the weeks of being prisoner in her own castle.

"I'm not about to kill a child," Emily said softly, disentangling her hands from Isoldes. "There must be another way."

Wynne cleared her throat from behind them and waited until every pair of eyes was on her. "With lyrium and mages we would be able to enter the fade and kill the demon. But, it would take time, lots of it. However, you did save Irving, I am sure he would aid us."

"We must try," Alistair spoke before Emily could, her eyes darting to his face. She saw how much this family meant to him, and she squirmed uncomfortably.

"I suppose we could. But the demon might kill more innocents." She ran a hand down her face, digging her thumb and forefingers into her eyes while she thought on it. Emily pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and began to worry it as she paced. Alistair stood behind her, along with Wynne and Leliana. "If we split up and some of you stayed," she looked pointedly at Alistair, "I could reach the tower more quickly by myself, and return with the mages and lyrium-"

Alistair was shaking his head, a hand reaching for her, but she pulled away and thread her hands together. "It's the safest course," she said, no longer speaking to Isolde or Teagan, the former aleady had broken down into joyful tears. Teagan was trying to soothe her.

"A moment?" Alistair did not allow her to pull away this time, and tugged her gently into the next room and down the hall to the familiar study. "You aren't going alone, I'm not going to let you-"

"Are you going to stop me?" She asked, just the smallest of smiles on her lips. "Don't worry Alistair, I will return safely. If I took Sten and Morrigan, would you 'allow' it?"

"I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them."

The kiss caught him offguard and knocked down his defenses. He quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him, his lips hungry but gentle. Emily broke the kiss after a few moments, her gauntlets tapping against his breastplate. "I trust them. Teagan and Isolde need you here though, you need to protect the village and the boy until we get back." His arms tightened around her, and Emily smiled up at him. "I promise I will return safely."

His argument faltered and he sighed. "How do you know that?"

Her smile was cheeky, "I'm not dead yet, am I?"

"That doesn't mean anything, what if something goes wrong-"

She silenced him with another kiss, one that made her rise to her toes and make warmth flood to her belly. The kind of kiss that, in other circumstances, might have led to their bodies being tangled and sweaty. Not that they had done that, yet, but Emily was still hoping.

Falling back from him Emily smiled warmly. "My decision is final, unless you feel like taking over and calling the shots?"

"No, no. I couldn't lead us to lunch, let alone to battle. Speaking of lunch though..." Emily laughed while a grin crossed his features. "Promise you will be safe?"

"Promise."

The memory faded as the boat beneith him fell away, making him yelp and try to scramble to his feet. Failing that, he landed face down on the floor and began to roll, in time for Shale to grasp him tightly by the back of the neck and return him to his feet. "A storm is coming," she informed him as he tried to get his barings.

"Great. Just great," Alistair mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It had been such a good memory for him, it made him remember how hard she had worked to save everyone and everything she encontered.

Shrugging off the initial shock of the boats rises and falls in the waves Alistair makes his way onto the deck, where sheets of rain hit him in the face like a swarm of arrows. Wincing and covering his face he called for the Captain, a surly man by the name of Three-Fingers. It wasn't all that accurate of a name, for he really only had two fingers on his right hand, and a hook on his left.  
The man came barrelling down toward Alistair, shouting: "Get back under! Yer gonna get in the way!"

The Warden headed the call and dropped back down under the deck, and Three-Fingers followed. "Are we-"

"Gettin' close? Aye. Another hour or so and we can row yous to shore. A'course, only if this bitch lightens up," he pointed upward. Balding as he was it didn't stop hair from growing out of his chin and cheeks into a thick white knotted beard that was long enough to be tucked into his belt. "I'll come get'cha when we're ready, eh?"

Nodding dumbly, Alistair let the man go back up to bossing his crew about. Just in time for thunder to make them all tremble. If he had not like sea travel before, he surely did not like it now.

Wynne came soon after, waving him over to the small cabin they were using as a sort of base. The map was nailed down to the table and a red flag marked their destination, and a blue their starting point.

"What is your plan for when we get there?" She asked after shutting the door, hoping it would help block out some of the noise from the storm outside.

"Well, I figure dragons won't be hard to spot. And I found this-" he moved over to one of the crates he had brought with him. many had been filled with food and clean water, or poultices, and some had extra armour and weapons, arrows enchanted with fire and ice and other little trinkets he thought might be helpful, such as fire resistant pendants and runes. The artifact that Alistair drew out was the horn that Emily had blown to call the high dragon down on their search for Andraste's Ashes, "I remember it working with that one dragon, why not again?"

"Good thinking," Wynne praised him softly, plucking the thing from his hands. "Look here, these writings suggest it was built by the Dragon Cults, it should most definiately work."

The former templar beamed. "I tend to do that, from time to time, you know."

Zevran laughed heartily from across the room. "As we've seen. So my dearest Wynne, do you think we will be able enough for the task now?"

She scoffed, "It is not that I did not believe we were able, Zevran, I was merely showing concern for Alistair."

"What?" The man in question looked confused, and shot the two glares.

"See, Wynne here thought you might be, what is the term you used? An archdemon short of a blight since your... departure. I assured her otherwise, but alas.."

"You are not always the most trustworthy, Zevran," she informed him. He had the audacity to look hurt, before the grun once more took over his face. "I am concerned for you Alistair, that is all."

"I'm a grown man, there is no need for that."

She smiled tenderly, "but I do."

_"LAND IN SIGHT!"_ Cried a voice from above, quickly joined by the cheering of the crew. The others down below all were less excited, fighting a dragon is no simple feat and even Zevran was uncertain of their complete success. Though he kept that to himself.

"Are you ready?" Asked Alistair to the other three, who nodded in turn. "Good."_ Because I'm not_, his mind finished for him. "Get armed and prepare to be rowed to land."

The demonness' name was Shivlia and she was pride in disguise. Something Anders had only found out by letting Justice take the lead on one of her minions. It was a pretty horrible sight, even for a demon. When the spirit had struck it's had straight through it's head and began to twist, the creature let out the most horrible noise he'd ever heard. It was like a child being set on fire, and it left him a little sick to his stomach. But that meant they were one step closer to freeing Emily.

Justice followed orders well, Anders noted, even when not inside of a human body. The spirit was also greatly interested in the state of Kristoff's wife Aura. Anders was pleased to tell him that she had a ceremony done for the body and was moving on with her life. Emily had originally asked her to join her staff, promising to give her a good home working for the Wardens, but Aura refused. It was too close to home and a constant reminder, so Emily set her off with a dwarf tradesman in Denerim she once knew and some money in her pocket. Aura had writen Vigils Keep once to tell them her life was going well and that her work with Gorim was pleasent. She mostly shined the armour for sale, but was being trained to make sales of her own. Justice was releived by the news, and thanked Anders again for the information.

It was getting close to when his body needed to awaken, Anders could feel it. They had made good time though and gotten useful information from many of Shivlia's underlings. Now they knew why Emily could not find the demoness (a series of magical runes that continued to relocate her further and further away, while giving her the illusion of getting closer to her goal), and how to track her down. Anders was feeling good about his rescue, but time was up.

"Go to her Justice, let her know what we have acomplished. I will return again next I sleep and we will finish this."

The spirit nodded, and disappeared from sight.

Anders awoke with a renewed sense of acomplishment, and threw himself into his day. New recruits had arrived a few days ago, and two of the surviors of the Joining, plus a few older mage Wardens, were in dire need of lessons on healing. Ones he would not have liked to be incharge of, but Risel made it very clear it was his new set of duties, decreed by Alistair before he left.

So Anders had five students; Sam a human pyromancer, Aria an elf who excelled in entropy and mind-control magics, Marvin another elf with a taste for hexes but also a natural talent with healing, Liam a third elf who had a very good control of all styles of magic but no mastery and lastly Meribell the only other human of the group, she was good with glyphs and ice magic. Thankfully, they had spent their lives inside of one Circle or another and were quick learners. It allowed his days to go by faster, for when he slept he handled his real duties.


	18. Eighteen

**Enjoy! (And if any of you watch Breaking Bad, OMG did you see last night's episode? *mindexplode*)**

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"Dear maker..." whispered Wynne, obviously awestruck. Before the group was a massive skeleton, one half of a centre rib was bigger than if Zevran was standing on Alistair's shoulders. The thing went on forever, starting at the skull so large they could walk inside of it and ending at with the tail. The last piece of vertebra was the size of a small bear and was as heavy as one too.

"We won't even have to kill a Dragon with this," Alistair muttered as he ran a hand along the side of a spinal piece, the bone was smooth from Maker only knows how long it had been exposed to the elements, not a single piece of skin or scale remained on it either. It was white as white could be, almost blinding in the sunshine. "I mean, if we can move it." Even the High Dragon they had once killed wasn't this big.

"This is very old," Wynne told them. "Centuries at least. Do you really want to move it?"

Zevran laughed, "Are we even able to?"

"If we broke it down, perhaps," the old mage replied quickly.

"And how do you think we shall do that? Do we have dragonbone cutting saws handy?" The elf rolled his eyes. "No, I do not believe we do."

Pointing to Wynne the former templar offered a half smile, "No, but we do have a mage." Then he pointed to the Golem who had been rather quiet since they landed. "And we have her."

"Does it think I can break bone with my hands?" Shale thought about it for a moment, "I can. But it thinks I will do such for it?"

"What if I ask you really nicely?"

Shale was not amused. Or maybe she was. Alistair couldn't tell. Never the less, the golem approached the remains and stomped towards the last rib. Wrapping her hands around it's centre she squeezed and bent it, the bone did not seem to care at first, then there was a sickening crunch before she held half of the rib on her grip, the other still half-buried in the dirt. "It seems I can," she announced calmly.

"Wonderful!" Wynne clapped her hands together. "Zevran, run back to the oarsmen, tell them they need to begin lugging these pieces back. Shale, could you stay here and help break them down?"

"If I must."

The other three decided mutually to carry on, further onto the isle. It wasn't the largest piece of land, nor was it the most impressive. It would take maybe two days to cross it by foot completely, from one end to the other, but they had no plans to do such. In the centre there was a large hill covered in a dense forest. By the sounds it was making, and the size of the trees, it was a good bet that Dragons would live there. Alistair was apprehensive but excited all the same. All they needed was the skin or scales of a few lesser drakes along with their bones and the massive one they had found, and they would be set. Or so he hoped, now that he was here, all his heart wanted to do was go back.

He had tried not to think of what he had left behind, about the sickly woman half-dead in his new Keep. Knowing she had wanted to be his wife was painful for him, because he could remember a time when that was all he wanted too. He could still remember wishing that they were not Wardens, there was no Blight, and they were just normal people. Then he would remember that he was a bastard, and she a lady. Though the way she had looked at him, perhaps they still could have been happy. He shook his head to clear his mind, to focus on the task at hand.

It was a good thing too, for only an hour later as they descended into the thick brush of the forest, they saw their first Dragon. It was just a baby though, small enough to fit in their row boat. It saw them and fled quickly, crying out in a high tone that made them all wince.

"The mother will be here soon, I bet." The mage told them in a hushed whisper, pushing white hairs off of her face. "Be alert."

There was no need to say it twice, the other two men were not about to let their guard down. They continued to make their way to the base of the singular hill on the island when the crying suddenly stopped. They did as well. Nervously, Alistair rose a hand to tell them to wait, and crept forward. He brushed aside leafs and bushes alike at a near crawling pace. Only to stop suddenly; two dragons- no, drakes were resting in the trees in front of him. They were watching him though, he realized, swallowing around the sudden knot in his throat. He backed up one step and they shifted to fully face him.

Their wings spread across the tree tops so wide it made them look three times as large. His backward steps turned into a full run, and he could hear them close behind. He was lucky that the other two could as well, for when he came into sight of Wynne she was already casting. He had only a second to spin and see them get caught in her ward, freezing them in the spot.

Alistair roared and hammered his sword against his shield and charged the frozen beasts. One of the dragons was larger than the other and both were male, he learned quickly. He swung at the bigger one first, his sword digging into the soft flesh of it's belly and continued through with a bash, that knocked it out of the ward. It screamed in fury. By now, Zevran had flanked the beast, his short blades dancing as he tried to get in close under it's wing to sever the visible arteries there, but was kicked back with a talonned foot so hard he bounced off of a nearby tree. The small dragon was still stuck, and Wynne quickly renewed the spell surrounding it. It was up to Alistair now though, to cut this one down. Zevran was trying to get the blood from his eyes. As he lunged again the drake went up on it's hind legs and buffeted it's wings, sending both him and Wynne to the ground.

It wasted no time closing the distance as Alistair struggled to his feet. Already he was breathing heavily and sweat was on his forehead, threatening to leak into his vision. The sweat and heat only got worse as fire burst forth from it's mouth and nose, coating the warrior in flame.

"Alistair! No!" Shouted Wynne behind him. He was cooking inside of the metal suit and suffocating all at the same time, he gasped for breath and began to fall. Then the cool rush of healing fell over his form as he collapsed to a knee. He found himself grinning as he swung upward, using his legs to propel his blade straight into the creature's belly, and he turned and jerked the blade all the way down to it's pelvis. Blood, guts and gore spilled from it as he cried out in agony, coating Alistair in red. Smoke gathering at the end of it's nose again while it died, he knew what was going to come, the final blast that would kill him and mark the end for the drake. He shut his eyes, perhaps it was what he deserved.

Then Zevran was atop the dragon's neck, his daggers digging into it's jaw. In one fluid motion he jerked his arms up and ripped the blades free, severing it's jugular. The beast collapsed, dead.

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief, but there was still a second drake, and Wynne was tiring behind him. He knew how taxing healing magics could be.

The second drake was enraged by the sight of the other's dead body, and did not wait for Alistair to break the ward. With a powerful flap of it's wings it had broken the spell and Wynne fell behind him with a cry. He almost looked to check on her, but the dragon was upon him, spitting flame and smoke. He rolled out of the way, using his shield to propel him back to his feet. Zevran was at his side in an instant, worry etched on his features. "Wynne-"

"Focus!" He snapped, clanging his sword and shield to get the beast's attention. Zevran scowled, but danced away into the shadow, going to attack the drake from it's side or back once Alistair had successfully gotten its full attention. The noises worked and the beast cried out and ran at him, baring his massive teeth the size of Alistair's forearm. It's long neck allowed for him to try and bite the plated man from a distance, Alistair feinted as if he were going into the bite, but dodged the other way. The drake saw it coming, but Alistair did not. So when the fang pierced through his plate leg-guard and into his flesh down to the bone he screamed, pure agony. He dropped his shield then by mistake and instead rose his sword, wrapped both hands around it's hilt and drove it straight through the top of the beasts head.

It died with his leg still in his mouth.

What happened after that, Alistair did not know. Blackness washed over him and that was it.

"Are you sure this will work?" Emily's hands were trembling in his own.

Anders had no real answer for her, but did not want to leave her in worry. "Yes. We have killed all the other demons in the nightmares. There is only her left. But, I do not have the time tonight."

Her hands began to shake harder. Emily opened her mouth to speak, but let it fall shut after a moment. Instead she took her hands from his and nodded. "Save me soon."

A moment later and he was gone. "I can feel myself dying," she finished to the open air. And it was true. Although she could not truly feel, her skin felt tight, grey and cold. She felt as if she were fading away, losing the little hope she had been holding on to. Overall, she felt defeated.

His sweet words were nice, but just that: words. Emily could see the fear reflected in his eyes each time she asked him to free her, each time he told her that he would be back the next night, that he could not this night.

A sickening thought hit her: what if he was actually the demon? It wasn't as if she had come to her in disguise before. But he seemed to genuine, so real. That is part of her trick, reminded her mind, the part that held onto her sanity. She wants you to trust him-her. It's a trap.

There was nothing left for her in that moment. Falling to the ground she clutched her knees tightly to her chest.

Unbeknownst to Emily, the demon watched her from the shadows. It's face twisted in fury, she had seen the mage leave her realm and could feel the Spirit helping him. This was unacceptable.

"What do you want?" Snapped the blonde woman, spinning within the dream. Her hair was down now, tickling the sides of her arms.

The demon before her hissed at her tone. "I need more power, more blood."

Anora snarled at the demon. "I have already given you the blood of every prisoner I have, I have sacrificed my truest advisers to you and you need _more_?!" Her voice rose in anger and she lashed out at the demon, but it caught her wrist. "Unhand me!" She demanded.

"I need more blood!" it cried at her, before throwing down to the ground. Anora didn't dare rise again. "They are getting close to my domain! With more power I can stop them, if not, she will get away."

The queen scoffed. "Are you not the greatest of demons? Kill them, kill her."

"I cannot. Her will is strong."

Anora smiled wickedly. "Then break her will."


	19. Nineteen

**Chapter 19, enjoy. Rating will be going to M for suggestive themes.**

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"I was a prince!" Cried the man in the back of the tavern, slamming his hand down loudly. The people he was yelling at scrambled away quickly, but it didn't stop him. He probably didn't even notice they had gone. Instead he swayed in his seat and screwed up his face. "I was gonna... hic! Be a king! A king!" He cried, getting the scorn of the barman.

This tavern was familiar, but not, all at the same time. It made her head hurt slightly when she looked around, no-ones face was perfectly clear, but they were not blurred. She rose a hand to rub away the goosebumps on her flesh. The leathers she was strapped into were constricting and unfamiliar, but the fit her properly. On her hip hung a sword, it was not heavy nor light it just seemed to exist. She was waiting patiently for her ale while listening to the crazy in the corner. When the man finally did serve her she leaned across to inquire: "Who is that man?" She asked.

"I don't give two shits," the man grumbled, putting her ale down with more force then he needed to and spilling it across his hand. "I'll give you some gold to shut him up though, I dun' care if you beat him bloody or not."

Emily's lips tightened, she could use money. So, taking her ale she strutted to the table, the man sitting in the corner looked shaggy. His hair was unkept, his eyes dull and rimmed with drink. Even his clothing was dishevled. "Hello," she greeted him curtly, taking a seat.

"Hello to you too," he mocked, taking another big swig, to find his mug empty. He threw it down angrily. "You here to make my day worse?"

Startled she just blinked at him, "I was going to ask you to stop shouting-"

"I was a prince! You don't get to talk to me like that, whore!" He sneered, shoving his cup in her direction.

Catching it with her left hand she flung it back at him fluidly, but he dropped his head in time and it shattered against the wall. By the time he rose his head again her blade rested on his throat. "Do not call me that again," she warned him.

The drunk swallowed hard and shifted in his seat, "sorry, sorry," he muttered quickly.

"I should just kill you and collect his money," Emily sighed. Again she looked at him and something nagged at her, something that felt pushed back and supressed. There was something about the way his brown eyes flickered golden in the candle light. But as soon as it was, it was gone.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The drunk questioned. Before she could say anything, he was continueing: "Ruin my life, now you're just going to take it?"

"Ruin your life? I don't know you-"

"You don't?!" He roared. Suddenly the room was empty, it was only the two of them. The table seperating them was gone and they were standing only a foot apart. "Look at me now, Emily! This is what you made," he pushed at her, striking her center in the chest and back a step.

The sword at her side was missing and she was naked in front of him. "Who-"

His face twisted into the parody of a grin but it was covered in anger. "Figures. You discard me for Loghain, then you start fucking a mage, then you just forget me? Completely!?"

"Alistair?" Her voice cracked slightly.

A hand was back on her naked chest, then up around her throat, squeezing it painfully. "You threw me away like I was_ nothing_! You made me into_ this!_" His free hand gestured at himself. "Don't speak to me like you _know_ me! You know _nothing_!" He threw her down angrily and she bounced off the ground, her head striking the stone and making her vision swim. "You ruined my life Emily.." Alistair hissed at her fallen form. "Now I'm going to ruin you."

Fear flashed across her face as the man dropped in front of her. Naked and unarmed she tried to scramble backward, but he was larger and uninjured. His hands were filled with fury as they grabbed and yanked and pulled at her roughly. Emily was screaming for help, kicking and trying to get away while the shadow of the man she once knew tried to take her.

"_NO!_" A flash of lightening and the Alistair above her was flung across the room, hitting the wall with a resounding smack. Tears had been flowing from her eyes, she realized as she tried to clutch at her own naked form, to hide the angry red marks that covered her hips and sides from his hands.

Anders was there, rage in his blue eyes. Another bolt of lightening arced from his staff to stop Alistair in his tracks. The mage rushed the former Templar, no longer swaying and drunk but angry and determined.

Pain exploded behind her eyes and she clutched at her head, crying out for help but getting none. Anders was atop Alistair on the other side of the room, his staff forgotten, his hands red from punching the shadow's face, again and again and again. The pain left little white marks in her vision, but she turned to watch anyways. Alistair shimmered for a moment and was replaced by a demon of rage. But Anders called forth a third and final strike of lightening, before it disappated completely. Dead.

The bar was gone and she was no longer naked, but still she was crying. Even as the mage rushed to her side and wrapped her in his arms. There hadn't been a time she had felt that helpless in a long time, really since the first day her father showed her how to hold a blade and gave her a knife to keep tucked away in her boot. She had thankfully never had to pull it on anyone, but it was a reasurance.

"It was just a nightmare," Anders soothing voice was met with a slow caress of magic. She eased into his arms as her muscles went limp. "The demon is trying to break you," he told her again, his hand moving across her hair. The magic he was feeding into her spirit made her feel safe and warm, as much as one could in the Fade. "I need to go." He told her finally, "Or I'll never reach the demon in time."

Emily had swallowed down her fears but still tears had dried upon her skin. "Go," she told him softly, her hand squeezing his arm. "Save me," she begged.

"I will."

Once more she was alone to wait on another to bring her home safely.

Justice's sword was effective in the Fade, it cut through demons as well as Anders' magic could. The two of them worked easily through the horde of demons that guarded their way. Just beyond them was a set of three barricaded portals, but Justice had already claimed he could break the spells. The hard part would be getting the right door. The other two could be traps, or all three could lead them there. No matter what, one would bring them to the right place.

The seemingly never-ending line of demons was starting to bother Anders, as they just popped from the ground like it was nothing but were felled with no more effort than flicking off a fly.

"They are just illusions," the Spirit said just as Anders reached the same conclusion. "Shall we ignore them?" His blade sliced one that looked some-what human from head to navel.

"Yes, lead the charge. I will be right behind you."

The spirit did just that, lifting his shield he cried out and began to barrel through them, knocking them aside or making them disappear completely. As they reached the door Justice grabbed Anders by the shoulder and threw him to the portals, spinning to face the demons as they reared to overtake them again. Anders was tired of it though and summoned a storm before their eyes, making the demons howl and cry and swing their arms in dismay.

"Now Justice!" He yelled.

"Which one?"

"Whichever! Just do it quickly."

The spirit picked the centre one and rose his blade high, the barricade that held the portal closed looked like no more than a criss-cross of heavy chains, but his blade passed through him easily and they fell apart. The portal started up instantly, humming and glowing it's eerie purple. Anders grabbed hold of the spirit just as they walked through.

On the other side stood a desire demon. It's flame hair was black and roaring, her horns massive and twisted.

"YOU!" It screamed, spreading it's arms wide fire erupted around them just as black and horrible as what was sprouting from it's head. "You dare enter my home!" With a twist of it's wrist the flames began to rush foward.

Anders swept his staff and a blast of cold air knocked the flames back. "I'd run if I were you," he sneered back, lip twitching in irritating.

"You think me a fool, mortal?" Cried the demon as Justice ran at it, knocking him aside with but a swipe of her hand. "_I_ am all-powerful here, this is_ my_ domain-" The ghost-sword that was wielded by Justice was then protruding from it's belly. The spirit wasted no time jerking it down quickly, slicing the demon cleanly in two from the navel down.

Laughter echoed from around them. "That was not the true demon," announced Justice.

"No, really? I figured it would be that easy," Anders rolled his eyes.

The demon that did burst into the centre of the stage was huge in comparison to most that he had ever met: it was a demon of pride. It beat it's arms against it's chest while Justice ran to regroup with Anders.

Then the real fight began.


	20. Twenty

**Thank you for the favourites! Enjoy!**

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The world around him was groggy at best, everything was tilting and dipping as if he were in water. He blinked his eyes again, but nothing became clearer.

"He's moving," announced a familiar male voice, thickly accented.

Wynne moved into his vision, there was concern in her eyes for a moment, then relief. "You're awake, this is good."

"I feel like I was just trampled by an Archdemon." Alistair groaned from his bed, he tried to raise and arm to cradle his forehead, but his arms were restricted at his sides with tightly wrapped blankets.

Zev was there too. "You look it too," he teased though it was the same relief reflected in his gaze.

"Why can't I move? Where are we? Is the drake dead? How long have I been asleep?"

Wynne laughed softly and began to unwrap him, "One question at a time, Alistair," she chided softly. "We are back on the ship and half-way to Amaranthine. The tides have been rough and we had to make sure you would not move too much and upset your injuries." She freed him finally and helped him sit up. "The drakes are dead and we have as much as we can carry in the hold. It should be more than enough to finish the reconstruction of your Keep." The elder mage smiled warmly and rubbed her hands together. "Now let me see your leg. It is about time to heal you again, then to change the bandages."

That was when Alistair really felt the pain in his leg. Upon first inspection his leg looked fine other than the inch thick wrappings that had spots of brown from his blood. Wynne was gentle though, as she moved her hands across. Cool healing magic set into his skin and he could feel it working.

"How does that feel?" She asked an hour later, leaning heavily on her staff. Zevran had left to fetch them food only minutes ago and it left the two of them alone.

"Better," he admitted. Most of the discomfort was gone but it still ached.

The mage smiled, "Good. Zevran will help me change the bandage before we eat."

Good to his word, the elf returned soon with dried meats and fruits. It didn't look or smell all that good, but it was enough to keep them alive and functioning well. With his help Wynne was able to change the gauze, she would have done it herself if she hadn't been so tired from all her magic. The wound was still ugly to behold, but much better than it had been, according to his caregivers. Aparently, they had feared he was going to bleed out before they could get him properly cared for. The drake's tooth had gone deep into the flesh and had severed some important things, Alistair wasn't really able to follow the jargon, but got the idea.

Once all the soiled bandages were tossed and cleaned away and fresh ones put on, they washed their hands in a wooden basin and ate their meals. The other two made it out of the fray alright for the most part. Wynne was tired, but alive and well, and Zevran had a concussion but nothing major otherwise. They had dragged a bleeding Alistair down the hill until Shale saw them. She carried him to the ship while Zevran pointed the crew to the location of the corpses. It took a whole other day to load the ship, which was the worst for Wynne. That was the only day they feared they would lose him, after he survived that night, it was unlikely he would die in his sleep. Never the less, the wound would not stop bleeding. It bothered Wynne, but it was nothing time wouldn't heal. That was just over a week ago now.

"... and here we are! Eating... lamb? I think this is lamb," The Crow chuckled and shook his head, "and another six days from port. Then, we loadup the caravans and make the three day trip back to the Keep. And life goes on, no?"

"Sounds like quite the week," Alistair remarked with a chuckle. "Can't believe I slept that whole time." His apatite surely suggested it though; he scarfed down three times as much as anyone else in the room, and was still hungry for more (though only some yellow cheese would really had hit the spot).

The mage laughed at him and shook her finger in his direction, "I know you must be tired of sleeping, but you still do need rest. You have some internal injuries, a fractures rib of three to start. You too Zevran. Rest will make the rest of the trip go faster, too." She wiped her hands on her skirt. "Now, if you excuse me. I need to get some sleep of my own."

Zevran and Alistair shared a look and laughed. The elf bid the Warden a good night and that man eased back into his bed, pulling the rough woolen sheets up to his nose as the elf shut the door behind him.

"Goodnight..." Whispered Alistair to noone in particular.

Anders flew down the hall without a care in the world, he was even barefoot! Ser Pounce-A-Lot was on his heels, swiping at the hems of his robe whenever he was close enough, mewing when Anders would disappear behind a corner and out of sight.

Other Wardens jumped from the way, giving the mage strange side-ways looks while the maids he knocked aside just sighed and got back to work. They knew better to question the erratic behaviour of the Wardens, or they were just used to it.

The door to her room opened with a slam drawing Valenna to the door. She was about to close it on Anders with an angry cry, but he shoved past her. The elf stumbled back and muttered curses; she even thought about cursing him with more than words, but the way he pulled back the curtains on her bed to peer down at the Warden Commander was different than usual. "What is it, Anders?" She asked finally.

"Emily..." he wasn't listening to her, his hand was on the sleeping woman's cheek. There was a warmth there he hadn't felt in months, colour was returning to her features and a smile spread wide across his whole face. "She's free," he whispered back to Valenna. "I freed her!"

"What are you talking about?" The elf was confused, but came closer to inspect their fallen leader. She was looking more lively, for sure, but she hadn't moved.

"In the Fade, I found her, we-I saved her by killing the demon." He explained quickly, checking her pulse for a second time. "Why hasn't she woke?" Anders' brow pulled together in confusion. "She should be awake.."

Valenna touched his arm gently, "she has been under this... influence for a while. It may take time for her mind to catch up with her body." The elf knew no such things, of course, but it was enough for Anders. He straightened and nodded, finally noticing that his toes were cold and he was barefoot. "Oghren has returned and I am sure his people will need some healing. You go and do that, I will send for you if she so much as twitches."

"I.. well.." His shoulders dropped, "Alright."

With a final caress, he left her there. His mind was working in circles, was that not the real demon? Was she still trapped? He let the sight of the returning Wardens overwhelm him and set to the task of healing the most injured: Oghren of course.


	21. Twenty One

**Enjoy this next Chapter! Sorry for the length!**

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When the Captain cried out above them that they were pulling into the port, Alistair not only jumped out of bed and ran up the stairs, but nearly hugged the man. He stopped when he got a glare but let the goofy grin spread across his face anyway. Zevran and Wynne joined him shortly and they leaned on the banister to watch them come in. The crew worked quickly and hard to get them onto the dock, and only once they were secured were they allowed to leave. Alistair ran from the ship, down the docks and onto land as fast as his still sore leg would allow him, and with a gleeful grin he fell into the grass. Zevran watched him with amusement written across his face, while Wynne laughed and shook her head and Shale just grunted in his direction.

The caravans arrived nearly an hour later; the ground crew worked quickly to load the cargo along with the ship's crew into the caravans. The horses were all stabled at the end of the dock, as they were known to mess the whole place up. They had a series of six caravans ready and stored but they still needed more. This would require time, but Alistair was happy to obligue and pay for the extra work to get all the cargo. He was also happy to just be on solid ground once again.

It took nearly four additional hours to find another set of three caravans. They agreed to take what this Warden offered, 5 sovereigns each when they leave, and another 5 when the arrive; if all of the cargo arrives unharmed and fully accounted for. Another two hours later and all caravans were filled to bursting and ready to go. The horses were being attached as Alistair paid the Captain, and in turn, the crew.

"I cannot come with you," Wynne said as he left the docks to rejoin the vans. Alistair looked shocked, but Zevran did not, he must've already known. "I have work to do with the Circles, and I have taken too much time off already. I will visit the Keep soon, I promise."

"I'll miss you Wynne," he admitted softly.

She laughed and shook her head, "Sure you will." Alistair stuck his hand out for a shake, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him gently. "Have a safe trip back. Don't forget to write!"

"Of course not!" Alistair laughed, awkwardly disentangling himself from her. "I'll write you often. Promise."

Zevran laughed and slapped Alistair on the back. "Shall we get a move on? We have a lot of ground to cover over these next few days."

"Stay safe, Wynne. And Shale." The golem didn't seem to care, and grunted. She hefted Wynne's bag over her shoulder and followed the elder mage.

"Come." Zevran tugged on Alistair again, "we must move."

"Of course."

And so they began the trek back to Vigil's Keep.

* * *

It was a long one at that, with the heavy cargo and the extra people to feed they had to stop an hour earlier than Alistair would have wanted to to feed the people and the horses. It took hours to get everything settled, and by then the sun would be down and food would just be beginning to be served.

However, on the fifth day they finally saw the Keep in the distance and Alistair himself was so pleased. But night was going to be coming soon, and there was still hours to go. So, he called them down for the night. Zevran was the first to comment, but Alistair explained himself and everyone seemed to understand.

Though once food had been dished out and everyone was settled to sleep Zevran slipped up beside Alistair. "There is another reason why you do not want to push through," there was no question and the Warden sighed.

"Of course there is. What if we get back and she's dead?" He asked lowly, not daring to look the elf in the eye.

"Then we deal with it," he shrugged. Of course, Zevran was not so cold-hearted, but he had had more time to come to grips with the idea of her death. She had been laying there for months now, and there was a good chance that she would be dead by the time they returned. "Like we have everything else."

Alistair grunted. "Like we have?" He shook his head, "I ran away, I didn't deal with anything."

Zevran sighed. "True, but you have choice to change now."

The former templar nodded grimly and got up. "I'm going to sleep, get a night of sleep before return to the Vigil."

* * *

The next morning found Alistair awake and not resting at all. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the whole night, he had spent it fighting off the nightmares of finding her cold corpse, looking at him accusingly.

He rubbed sleep and anger from his eyes and threw his tent down quickly. Others were only starting to rise as he finished packing up his things. He took time to feed the horses while the van owners and operators woke.

"No time for breakfast," he told them all as they started getting out of their tents. He even knocked Zevran's over to wake him. "We will be there in a few hours, you will get proper food there."

They all grumbled, but did as they were bid. Only an hour later and they were ready to go. Another four hours and they were riding up on the Keep's gates. Alistair's palms felt clammy and his stomach was clenching uncomfortable. Something was.. different about the place. even Zevran seemed to notice it. The recruits in the rings looked refreshed and happy, the forces he had sent away with Oghren had returned, but that wasn't it.

It wasn't until they came up to the front steps that the difference presented itself.

Her armour was immaculate, and a massive greatsword was slung over her shoulders. Her long orange hair tumbled loosely down her back while her white-blue eyes stared directly into his eyes. "Welcome back, my friend," Emily said smoothly, offering a salute to Alistair and Zevran. The former was struck silent and still with awe, while the latter cheered and rushed her, capturing her in a hug that she eagerly returned.

But her eyes remained on the former templar, even while she let the assassin go. "It is good to see you again, Alistair. Come, we have much to discuss. You too, Zevran."


	22. Twenty Two

**Have another chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

"I imagine we do! I am glad to see you so well," Zevran spoke quickly at her side, any thoughts of paying the caravan masters had fled them. Alistair had fallen in step behind them, but he still couldn't find words to speak. This was possibly worse than coming back and finding her head, now he had to actually deal with what had happened. He swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat. What if she did not forgive him? Alistair hadn't seen any malice in her when she greeted them, but... he had never really been able to know what she was thinking.

Emily seemed healthy though, and she engaged Zevran with a soft smile. When he saw it in her profile he realized how much he had actually missed it, it was bright and warm and made him forget all of the ugliness around them. His heart clenched when she peered back to see him lagging behind, the smile still patiently on her lips.

Anders was there to meet them in the hall, though he said nothing to them but nodded to Emily. She clapped his arm gently and continued to speak with Zevran, but Alistair wasn't following their conversation.

He noticed the mage was giving him a dirty look though, and he returned it with knotted brows. Had he done something wrong? He had done everything he could while she had been ill, but now... oh Maker, what was he to do now? This was the only life he had; what could he go back to? Would she make him leave and return to his unfufiling life as a wandering drunk? It seemed likely, he had seen the anger she had retained for Howe during the Blight, and had been there to see her kill the man who had pained her. Would she- he swallowed hard, kill him?

Emily gestured them into Alistair's office, which was mostly unchanged since he had left. The papers on the desk were better organized and there were extra seats along the wall. Zevran eagerly pulled two of them up to the opposite side of the desk while Emily closed the door behind them. Anders, thankfully, didn't follow them in, but Alistair figured he was waiting outside the door.

There was a slight pause before she lowered herself into her high-backed chair, and a flicker of emotion ran across her face when she looked at him, but it did not last. The mask was there again, the same one he had seen her wear when she had faced Isolde the first time, or even the Knight-Commanger Gregior.

"I found these," she began without formalities, pulling out a stack of papers from the top drawer of the desk. They were bundled with a string that she pulled apart slowly; it was his notes on the plan. "Hunting dragons I see, mind telling me why this is Warden business?"

Alistair's skin was running cold and he felt like shivering in his armour, but he could not tell if she were mad or not, she just seemed... curious. "You were spending more money than you were making and the dwarves rebuilding the Keep are unwilling to continue without the promised soverigns. I did not want to reduce the salaries of your men-at-arms or other help-"

She held a hand up to stop him. "I see," Emily's lip twitched into a small smile. "Well, did you get what you needed?"

"More than what we needed," Zevran announced with a small laugh. "Those vans are loaded with blood, bone and scale of drakes; there are many who would pay well for such materials."

"You're right," she admitted, "it was very good thinking. And Zev, how long did it take you to find him?" She said no names, but Alistair was sure she meant him.

"Only a month or so, it was not too hard."

"Good to hear. Now may I have a few moments alone with Alistair? We need to discuss his position here."

Again, Alistair felt uncomfortable and frightened. He had been getting used to this, having purpose and meaning again. Zevran might have sensed it, but said nothing. He patted Alistair on the shoulder kindly as he took his leave. As the door opened Anders was easily seen waiting outside of the doors, his arms crossed with a small orange kitten playing on his shoulder. He seemed nervous.

"What is there to discuss?" He asked slowly, afraid of what she might say.

Emily did not reply right away, instead she unbuckled her gauntlets and put them down gently upon the desk, next to the thick, leather bound book that contained the rose he had given her. Once her hands were free and leaned back with a soft sigh, "Lots, I'm sure." Her pale eyes bore into his, "How have you been?"

It rocked him offguard. "Fine, I suppose. The perpetual hangover is finally gone," the words came without his bidding and another smile rose on her lips.

"That's good. We have enough Wardens with drinking problems. But you made it here fine? Where had you been?"

He shifted in his chair. "Is this really what you need to talk to me about?" His voice was low and he saw her body shift with it. The smile faded slightly and her shoulders tensed.

"No. But I'm finding it all very hard to say. It's been.. Maker, nearly two years since I've seen you? I figured you were dead when you didn't return within a few months, not for a lack of skill, but for... I don't know. Perhaps you being dead would have been easier to deal with than..."

The hurt so clearly written on her face made him feel sick. He had wounded her so deeply by walking away but still: "Than you conscripting Loghain?" The words were not ones he had really wanted to say, he did not want to bring it up, but they poured from him never the less.

There was a pause in the room, and he expected to see anger or outrage. "Than you walking away," she said instead. "I did what I thought I needed to and in the end it was for the best-"

"What does that mean?"

Her pale eyes rose to his again and she grimniced. "Duncan never told you why the Grey Wardens were needed to kill the Archdemon, did he?"

Alistair felt sorrow in his belly, he hadn't thought about Duncan in... a long time. "I always figured it had something to do with being able to sense and hear him."

"You're not entirely wrong," she admitted softly. "A Grey Warden must die to kill the Archdemon. If another mortal were to slay the dragon, it would merely transfer to another darkspawn, or somethingof the like. But when a Grey Warden makes the killing blow they absorb the dragon's taint and it... kills them both." Alistair's eyes went wide and white.

"So.. one of us would have had to die?"

"Yes." There was something about her curt answer that made him pause, there was something she wasn't saying, but he did not press her for it. "When Riordin told us I made Loghain promise he would let me give the final blow-"

"What?!" Alistair was on his feet, the chair falling back to the stone with a clatter. "Why would you do that?!"

Her eyes were hard when they met his, and her lips pulled together tightly. "I had no reason not to."

"Loghain broke his promise then?" He bent to pick up his chair and settled back in, trying to calm himself from having another outburst.

Emily laughed, albeit bitterly. "Of course he did, he was good at that sort of thing. When we had finally confronted the Archdemon atop Fort Drakon and had it bleeding and bruised I ordered Wynne, Leliana and Loghain back..." she chuckled. "He grabbed me by my shoulder and shook his head and said: 'You're too young to die now' and then slammed me with his shield." She was now looking at her hands. "I was knocked down and when I looked up he was driving his sword through the beast's head. There was an explosion and a beam of light, and then... nothing. Loghain was dead, there was nothing Wynne could do, and the Archdemon was nothing more than a tainted dragon corpse. The darkspawn began to run, but in their retreat we were able to slaughter them in the thousands. Denerim will never be the same for it, but most of it's people got out alive."

Alistair looked a little angry, "so he got to be the Hero?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't allow that. It was a brave thing for him to do, but in the end he had done what he was not supposed to; for glory I assume. Only Leliana, Wynne and I know what happened up there; I did not allow the other soldiers to risk their lives for my cause once the demon made it's landing upon the roof, they knew it was ours. I told Anora that the Archdemon killed her father before it was slain and she hasn't forgiven me yet." Emily paused and looked back up at him. "You were not the only person who hated him, Alistair. He gave Howe the order to kill my family; he admitted it to me."

This shocked him again, but when had she not given him pause. Alistair blinked up at Emily, who threaded her fingers together over her desk. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"I didn't want to have to defeat the Blight on my own, and by the time he told me we were about to fight the Archdemon. I took my anger and hatred out on the darkspawn who had gotten in my way instead."

Alistair wanted to speak again, but there was a knock on her door. The mage, Anders, was coming into the room without her word and it irked him slightly. "Commander," he said formally, "it's about time for you medication-"

"Another few minutes Anders and I'll be with you."

"You shouldn't delay this sort of thing." He didn't explain why, but gave her a slightly pained look, which made jealousy flare up in Alistair's chest. He was awfully familiar with her, inapproriately so unless they were... his heart stopped for a moment, in time to see her give Anders a smile and dismiss him with a small wave.

When they were alone again he shot a look at her, he saw realization run across her face but no regret. She arched a brow delicately, as if daring him to speak up about his thoughts. Instead he said: "So what about me now? You're alive and well and thus have no more need for my presence."

A second brow joined the first making her look both shocked and amused. "In a sense you are right. However.. I believe you have a different purpose to play."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You did well in my shoes, and I feel I need to reward you for this. Thus, I would like to offer you some... options." She paused, possibly to be dramatic. "First, you can leave and do whatever you please, so long as it is to better the name of the Grey Wardens. You can recruit, you can slay stray darkspawn, it's up to you. Second, you can stay here and be my second." Alistair was shocked, to say the least. "You proved a good leader, as I had always known you'd be, and we aren't so many that I would turn away one of Ferelden's biggest asset to defeating the Blight-"

"But I wasn't even here when you killed the Archdemon."

She chuckled, "No, but you did help create the army that did. You... inspire people. And third, you can take the throne."

"What?"

Emily's lips pursed and she cocked her head slightly to the side and shot him a look that read: do you really need to ask? "You have seen Anora since she has been crowned. Although these lands prosper I know that she was the one who gave me to the demon. I do not know how, or why, but she did. This Queen Anora is not the same ambitious girl that we met in Denerim. I do not think she is fit to rule, but I have no claim to the throne."

"This again?! You want me to be King?!"

Emily laughed, loudly and abruptly. "It would take time to do this, you would not wake up tomorrow in the Palace. Years possibly. But.. I have friends in Denerim, friends who send me letters including strange rumours of people and prisoners going missing. I suspect she is behind it. However, it is your choice, like I said."

Alistair rocked back in his chair as she rose from her's. "You do not have to decide by today, of course. Take your time, finish the tasks you have begun." Although she didn't say it, he could see she was weary. She did look much healthier than she had, but her hands were beginning to shake and she just looked a little weak. She still needed him here as she was not yet recovered. "Let me know as soon as you make a decision. Now I must see to Anders before he gives himself a hernia. Goodday, Alistair."

Emily tried to make it to the door but the big man was quicker on his feet than he realized. He trapped her bare hand in his own and she looked back at him, trying to hide her shock. "I'm glad you're alive," he said after a moment, before letting her hand loose. "It's good to see you again."

The smile she gave him reawoke feelings he hadn't felt since they were still trying to build an army. "You as well."

She left him there with the door opened. He watched as Anders took her elbow and gently began to lead her away from the room. Talking lowly and softly right into her ear, and he swore he heard her laugh. Inside his gut the familiar feelings of affection squirmed, and he was reminded all over again why he had loved her.

He needed to decide though, and slunk back into his chair. He cradled his face and groaned as his mind began to work. It would be another sleepless night.


	23. Twenty Three

**I am so sorry for the delay. I was across the country for the birth of my niece. Enjoy this short chapter, I'll try to get on a better schedule now. **

* * *

Anora's arms were crossed and her face was tight, around her the fade swayed and rocked but there was little motion. This was the place the demon always met her, her purple skin exposed fully with huge twisting horns covered in black fire, but tonight the Queen saw nothing. That infuriated her. How dare the demon defy her, after everything she had given to her!

She knew what she had felt in her gut though, that night not too long ago. It had been as if something was ripped straight from her gut; it woke her from her dreamless sleep in sweat and fear while a line of blood leaked from her nose. She had felt the tear but it wasn't completely gone.

The wait lasted what felt like hours before movement finally came to this realm in the corner of her eye. She spun her wole body to see the broken demon crawl towards her. She was mangled and destroyed, whatever beauty her human-like body had held, was gone. The fire upon her head was nothing more than flickering ashes. "You're late." Anora spat.

The demon hissed, but it was not as scary as it had been. "I am nearly dead," it called back from her place on the ground. She stopped crawling to rest there, two yards from Anora's feet. "Another mage... nearly killed me." If demons could bleed she would be bloodied and bruised everywhere.

"Nearly? You look more than nearly dead to me."

"Your humour is not welcome," the demon tried to rise, but surrendered to it's knees. "One of her lovers or companions, I do not know. It, along with a spirit found me in my place and ripped me apart."

"Yet you are not dead?"

The demon laughed- or tried to. Anora winced at the horrible noise. "I am more powerful that that-"

"Yet you let a mage and it's spirit kill you."

Her black fire roared for a moment, before she paled. "I had hidden away a piece of myself, just a small piece, for protection. They destroyed most of me, I need... more. More blood, more magic, a body in your realm!"

Anora scoffed. "I am not giving you my body."

"You are no true mage, your body would weaken me more. I need a mage. Young and untrained, one I can control fully."

The queen paused. "You want me to give you the body of a mage-child? For what purpose?"

"So I can regain my strength, rebuild myself, and then kill that Warden."

A smile crept up Anora's face. "I have bigger plans than just the one Warden now. You will have the body you need. Give me three days to... procure one."

"It needs to be living," the demon reminded her.

Anora smiled wickedly. "I know. I have someone in mind."


End file.
